


1964, Je Veux te Tenir La Main

by onlywordsnow



Category: Pan Am
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlywordsnow/pseuds/onlywordsnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1964 is a leap year.  1964 brings The Beatles.  Ian Fleming dies in 1964.  Martin Luther King Jr wins the Nobel Prize for Peace in 1964.  Dean is with the love of his life in 1964.  -A look at Dean and Colette's relationship in 1964.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January brings many travels.

**_1964, January_ **

****

-

 

This month marks many things.  President Lyndon Johnson declares war on poverty in his very first State of the Union Address.  The Surgeon General comes to the conclusion that smoking actually may not be good for the health.  There’s a solar eclipse.  The Eastern Conference defeats the Western Conference at the Boston Garden for the NBA’s All-Star Game.  The Beatles release their first album.  Dean flies crop dusters three days a week, thinks about Colette’s smile when he’d let her fly the plane.

 

-

 

Dean’s fingers itch. 

 

-

 

She is a familiarity that still feels new, a face that he could never forget.  It’s been two days since she last kissed him when the ball dropped at midnight to ring in the New Year.  They were falling into place, slowly but surely, with Bridget a mere memory behind them – specifically, a solid piece of his past.  He could focus on his future with Colette, focus on getting back into her good graces.  He thinks he doesn’t know enough ways to tell her just how sorry he is.  Dean writes her letters, leaves them in her mailbox despite the fact that she put in for a transfer to Hong Kong. 

 

He writes,

 

_I’m sorry_

 

_I love you_

 

_love doesn’t have to be a myth_

 

_call me_

 

He waits by the phone.  She doesn’t call.  Ted calls and tells Dean that her transfer request to Hong Kong has been denied.  Dean smiles because she’s staying; he frowns when he realizes she’s ignoring him.

 

She calls exactly two weeks after she kissed him at midnight.  She sounds happy.  She sounds sad.  She sounds like she needs him.  She sounds like she doesn’t. 

 

She says,

 

_we miss you_

 

_I miss you_

 

_the plane just touched down_

 

_I’m coming by_

 

-

 

He runs to the shop on the corner of the street 5 minutes before it closes and buys a bouquet, her cute little French accent ringing in his ears.   _Oui_ , she’d said when he’d asked for her dining company.   _Happiness has a name_ , he thinks,  _Colette_.  He finds the perkiest, most vibrant bouquet of flowers at the stand and pays the man.  He doesn’t make it to his apartment in time.  He stops about six feet away from the stoop. She’s waiting out front, perched on the stoop, looking elegant and beautiful as always with this slight pout on her lips.  She lifts her gaze to his and he offers her an apologetic smile. 

 

“I ran out to get you some flowers,” he says, gesturing a thumb behind him in the direction of the stand as he extends the bouquet in her direction.  He swallows as she stands, her legs long and smile tight.  He says, “I just thought it was the least I could do.” 

 

She’s not wearing the standard Pan Am blue, but she’s wearing a delicate yellow.  He thinks she looks like the sun, and he realizes then that he’s never seen her in a shade so bright.  Usually a dark, classy black or light creams and pastels.  She smiles and he can see the whole world on her mouth, like she’s the reassurance that everything will be okay. 

 

“They are beautiful,” she says, smile unwavering. 

 

He knows that there are two sides to her: the side that Pan Am trained her to be and the side that she keeps hidden.  He hardly gets to see the side she keeps hidden, but he knows he doesn’t even deserve to.  So he smiles in return, lips uncertain and trembling as he steps just a bit closer.  He extends the bouquet to her for her to take. 

 

He says, “I couldn’t get a reservation at that restaurant you like but I know of this great place a few blocks from here where we can go.” 

 

She nods in acknowledgement, taking the proffered flowers from his hand.  Her fingers touch his and his fingers twitch in response.  He can feel how warm her hands are through her gloves, even in the freezing air, snow surrounding her like an orb and her hair tied into a bun behind her head to expose her neck.  Her nose is pink from the cold, her breath fogging in the air as the sun begins to set. 

 

She leans into the flowers, her hand still on his, and smells them.  He’s never understood why women love the smell of flowers when he can’t even smell a difference anyway.  Her smile widens, teeth showing for just a brief moment.

 

She says, “Thank you, Dean.” 

 

And she turns, only slightly, as he presses his hand against the small of her back.  He says, “It’s my pleasure.” 

 

His hand stays at the small of her back, fingers flexing against her coat, for a long duration down the street.  She holds the flowers to her chest like someone will be forced to pry them from her cold, dead hands if they want to take them from her, and in his mind he sees this as hope, as smooth sailing to warmer waters.  He wants to tell her that he misses her, misses seeing her face, misses holding her hand, misses kissing her lips, misses the part of him that is her and with her when she’s gone. 

 

“Dean,” she says, and his name sounds like something different in her mouth, “Where are you taking me?” 

 

“There’s this great diner right around the corner here,” he explains. 

 

“Diner?”  She repeats.  Everything sounds different when she says it.  “We are a little over dressed, no?” 

 

“You look perfect,” is all he says.  He wishes he could say more.  He wishes he could say,  _I like seeing you in yellow_.  He wishes he could say,  _I like seeing you in anything_.  He wishes he could say,  _I like seeing you_.  He wishes he could say,  _I love you_. 

 

He glances at her to his right just in time to see the rose color touch her cheeks.  He wants to kiss her there, to see if her cheeks are warmer when she’s blushing, to feel how skin against his lips.  He wants; he waits.  He simply smiles and watches as she bows her head ever so slightly to hide her embarrassment. 

 

She sighs, it sounds like content to his ears, and she says, “You do not have to be so sweet.” 

 

“I know,” he replies.  He catches her gaze and is absolutely pleased with himself when she holds it for a long while.  Momentarily, he feels like he used to before he made his mistakes when Bridget returned, like they can have conversations without speaking.  They make it to the diner and he opens the door for her before she can grab the handle.  He adds, “I want to.” 

 

She offers him a curt nod as she steps into the open door.  He watches the waitress behind the counter curl her upper lip as she smacks her gum and gestures to them to take their pick.  He almost reassures her that despite the crude nature of the server, the food speaks for itself, but then he remembers exactly who he is with and that she always gives everyone the benefit of the doubt.  She is an amazing woman and he could never meet anyone else like her. 

 

He silently encourages her to select a table and she chooses a booth near the window yet still close to the corner.  He helps her out of her coat and reluctantly decides to sit opposite of her once stripping out of his own.  They’ve barely settled when the waitress comes over with two menus for them to look over.  He busies himself with the menu and inhales, practically gasps, when the toe of his shoe taps against hers. 

 

She lifts her eyes from the menu and looks at him.  Her gaze studies him and he feels like he’s under the spotlight.  She smirks suddenly and says, “Flying just is not the same without you.” 

 

“Good thing you’re an experienced pilot then,” he replies, “Just in case something goes wrong.”    
  
She laughs then, whole heartedly, and he feels warm inside.  He reaches across the table then to grab her hand.  Her smile is warm but it isn’t very wide.  “Dean,” she starts.  He fears she’s going to protest. 

 

“Doth the lady protest?” 

 

Her smile widens and she says, “No.  Not at all.”  She even entwines their fingers together like this is something she wants, too.  She tilts her head slightly and mutters, “I did not know you knew Shakespeare.” 

 

“I know Shakespeare,” he confirms, “Not like I know planes, but I know Shakespeare.” 

 

“I will take you to a show in London,” she replies decidedly, “In Shakespeare theatre.  It is magical, life altering.” 

 

“You’re life altering,” he replies. 

 

She’s taken aback for a moment.  Then she says, “I am sorry I have not called.  I have been…” 

 

She trails off and he lightly shakes his head in response. 

 

“I don’t want to lose you, Colette,” he tells her, “What can I do to get you back?” 

 

“Help me find my brother,” she poses it as a question more than a statement. 

 

He squeezes her fingers and says, “Finally decided to take me up on my offer?” 

 

“Oui,” she replies, grinning, “Come with me to France.” 

 

“Wherever you want me to go, I’ll go,” he says. 

 

She nods and they become silent.  She shifts her gaze back to the menu on the table and he watches her briefly, eyes scanning the food choices like the cheap diner they’re in has classy food.  He wants to tell her that he will follow her wherever she wants him to.  He wants to make promises of forever and always like he knows she’s the one. 

 

She looks up suddenly and says, “I have been thinking about that kiss.” 

 

“You have?” 

 

She nods, this time leaving out the verbal confirmation, “And I have decided I would really like it to mean something – an omen for our future.” 

 

-

 

He kisses her soundly on the lips when he walks her to the airport to see her off the next morning.  She’d asked him to stay with her after the diner, telling him that he could walk her to work in the morning and see her off to London.  She’d kissed him a few times, offered him a drink, and he’d told her that she didn’t have to serve him.  He didn’t want that from her, he just wanted her.  It had taken some convincing but she finally accepted that.  When he sees her off, with a polite wave to the girls as they suppress a few giggles, he heads home and packs a suitcase for his first trip as a passenger on Pan American Airlines. 

 

The trip to France comes without certainty of how long they’re going to be there but they aren’t leaving without answers.  Colette is only taking a few weeks off but a lot could happen in way of answers.  He has a lot of loose ends he needs to tie up before leaving despite the fact that they won’t be gone for too long.  He resigns to sleeping on her couch for the second night in a row.  He finds it comfortable enough, but he accepts it as long as she doesn’t verbally extend an invitation to share her bed. 

 

-

 

She smiles politely to the passengers on the flight.  She reminds him of what he misses the most.  She reminds him of sunshine peeking through the rain.  She reminds him of sunrises that are unforgettable. 

 

He feels envy of all the men she smiles at. 

 

He gets upset when she bats her eyelashes at a gentleman who isn’t him. 

 

He wants to hold her hand, if only for a second, as she passes him a glass. 

 

-

 

She loops her arm through his as they step onto the Paris streets.  Something about this lavish and grandiose city takes him back and he smiles; he says, “This is where it all began.” 

 

She smiles slowly as she looks at him like it suddenly dawns on her.  She says, “It is.” 

 

He hears a tinge of excitement in her voice as she speaks and that warms him.  Despite the fact that she’s leaning heavily against him, he still lets her lead him towards the hotel.  He figures that she knows the city a bit better than he does since he’d always just followed Bridget around.  Then again, they did get lost the last time they were here. 

 

His eyes trail up the side of the building, vintage and inherently French as to be expected, and he wonders then if maybe this building was once a church or belonged to the rich.  He knows very little about France other than what they’ve given to the United States.  He knows that 150 years ago the United States paid France for the Louisiana Purchase for 3 cents an acre.  That France gifted the United States the Statue of Liberty.  That France has always been an ally in time of war.  The French have always been reputable and quite remarkable. 

 

With the handle of his bag clutched in one hand and one of hers in his other, he climbs the steps outside of the hotel building with her hand sliding to his bicep.  He feels out of place beside her in his khaki pants and a black button down shirt with a sports jacket draped over his shoulders, like he should be in uniform when she is.  Part of him does wonder though what made her change her mind and ask him to join her on this adventure. 

 

He makes a promise to himself to stop questioning it, to just take what she’s offering. 

 

-

 

The hotel room doesn’t leave much to the imagination.  It’s a fair size but only has a king sized bed, love seat, dresser, and small table in the corner.  There’s a small closet with barely enough room for both of their clothes, she unpacks first and he has to fit 2 weeks of clothes in the small amount of space left, but he doesn’t complain to her.  The bathroom is only slightly updated with a bath tub/shower combo, a toilet, a sink, and a towel rack where they can hang their wet towels. 

 

She’s changed out of her royal blue Pan Am uniform and is now donning a black skirt with a white blouse.  He can’t remember ever seeing the blouse on her but he thinks it looks amazing on her, and the sweater on her shoulders suits her well.  He sits in a chair at the table and waits for her to be completely ready so they can go to dinner.  This time he hopes to take her somewhere nicer than that diner. 

 

She passes him by as she goes to the bedside table to put her jewelry on and she lightly touches his shoulder as she does, her finger barely toying with his hair.  He tells her that he’s going to use the restroom and when he’s back they can head out for some food.  She agrees with an easy smile.  When he gets back from the restroom, she’s fallen asleep.  He decides to let her rest for a while.

 

-

 

One thing that Dean likes about the busy cities like New York, London, and Paris, is that restaurants stay open late for dinner.  They are still on a different schedule and Colette’s brief, impromptu nap did nothing but only confirm his suspicions that the adjustment is going to take a few days.  He had the opportunity to sleep on the plane when she didn’t.  If he were to admit anything, he would have to say that it felt weird being a passenger on the same plane that all of his coworkers were manning.  But he said nothing; he won’t say anything, because he’s doing it for Colette. 

 

And yet, the thing that actually surprises him the most about Paris is how it’s nearing midnight and there is still a wait for a table.  He looks into the wide eyes of his beautiful counterpart and he sees the eagerness resting in them, so he agrees to wait.  He follows her lead to the bar, he feels like he is always following, never being followed, and finds that it is just as crowded.  He insists that she sit in the only open stool. 

 

She begins to protest but he says, “You’ve been on your feet all day.” 

 

“You are sweet,” she replies, grateful smile across her mouth, hand coming up to his cheek.  She kisses his jaw, so close to his chin, and sits on the stool at his request.  He stands closely behind her, slipping between her and the gentleman beside her just enough to get the barkeep’s attention.  Dean looks at her expectantly and she says, “Surprise me.” 

 

He thinks that this is a test and he briefly curls his lips in hesitation.  He says to the barkeep, “Make it two martinis.  Dry.” 

 

She nods like he made the right choice and effortlessly angles her body towards him.  He watches her swallow, her lips shining in the low lighting from her lipstick, and he smiles tightly as his gaze slips further down her form.  She reaches for his hand then, like she knows what he’s thinking, and brings his attention back to her.  He kisses her then – slow, steady, meaningful – and her lips part beneath his as if on autopilot. 

 

When they pull apart, she laughs quietly, barely audible and starts wiping her lipstick from his mouth.  She says then, “On the plane today, you were jealous, yes?” 

 

“I wanted all of your smiles to be for me,” he replies thoughtfully. 

 

“All of my smiles are  _because_  of you, Dean,” she says as she tilts her head, “You know it is my job to make the passengers to feel comfortable and important.” 

 

“I know,” he says quietly, her thumb still on his lips, “I just wanted to hold your hand.  I wanted to kiss you.  I couldn’t because you were working.  You make me proud.  When you’re in the air, you’re so confident and in your element.  You’re right where you belong.” 

 

“You will get unsuspended soon, Dean,” she reassures.  “I really appreciate what you did.” 

 

“I did what was the right thing to do,” he replies. 

 

“You are a good man,” she says.  Her fingers slide down the lapels of his jacket and rest against his chest. 

 

He smiles then and he says, “I’m only a good man because you make me a good man.  You have such a big heart.  You’re amazing.  I don’t deserve you.” 

 

“Don’t be silly,” she says then, smile widening larger than his, “I want to be with you, no?” 

 

“I think you do,” he says without certainty. 

 

“Je t’aime, Dean,” she replies.  The words seem easy but he doesn’t know French so he doesn’t really know what she’s said.  His eyebrows furrow in confusion, the unspoken question settling on his lips.  She doesn’t explain any further, just leans forward and lightly presses her lips against his.  When she pulls away, her breath is a whisper against his lips.  “I am happy that you are with me.” 

 

Just as he’s about to reply the barkeeper returns with their martinis.  There are two olives in the martinis resting at the bottom of the glasses and she takes a sip from the one closest to her.  Once she’s set her glass back down, he takes the olives resting on a toothpick out of his glass and drops it into hers.  Her eyes light up as she swallows her drink and she shifts her gaze to him sipping on his own drink. 

 

She asks, “Why did you do that?” 

 

“Because I know they’re your favorite part of the drink,” he explains. 

 

“Thank you,” she says then, her hand finding his free one.  He knows she means for more than just the olives. 

 

-

 

A few days pass and their search isn’t a successful one.  Dean convinces her to take a night off, to just relax and enjoy herself.  She reluctantly agrees to take a night away from her search.  He’d said so they could talk about them, get that leg of things to be discovered out of the way.  Of course he hadn’t phrased it like that.  He had phrased it in a way to suggest that it could help ease the stresses to figure out what they are. He’d asked her if she wanted to go out for dinner or if she’d prefer take out.  She says dinner so he hops into the shower. 

 

His shower is quick but hot.  He wraps a towel around his waist and open the bathroom door, the steam preceding him.  He catches sight of her on the phone on the bed side table.  He sighs and shakes his head in response to the fact that she hardly slows down.  He doesn’t blame her for being so determined to find a boy she knows nothing about.  He respects her and he supposes that he isn’t being much help in her search. He decides then that he will call some of his contacts in France – stewardesses aren’t the only ones who make friends on flights. 

 

She hangs up the phone and smiles at him.  She says, “I changed my mind.  I ordered room service.  You might want to put some clothes on before they bring up our food.” 

 

For a moment he is disappointed because he had wanted to take her out, to show her off to all of the Frenchmen, to make a statement – the statement that he is hers and she is his.  She is polite, thoughtful, elegance, and he wants to give her everything she could need.  She is poised.  She is performance.  She is everything and more that he could have ever asked for.  He wants to say,

 

_I love you_

_I’m yours_

 

He doesn’t.  He asks, “What changed your mind?” 

 

“I felt this was more intimate,” she says with a soft smile.  She laughs then, suddenly, and he’s perplexed but he feels nothing but admiration for her.  He thinks of the decorum, of all of the ways they are going against it.  She lightly shakes her head and says, “What would Paris think of me?” 

 

“They would think that you’re lovely,” he replies easily. 

 

He smiles there before sifting through the drawers for a fresh change of clothes.  He hears her push herself off of the bed from behind him and by the time he’s grabbed some underwear and socks she’s behind him.  Her dainty hands press against his back and slide up either side of his spine.  Her lips gently press against his spine before sliding over the nape of his neck. 

 

She asks, “What kind of girl would they take me for locked in this hotel room with you?” 

 

“You do what you want.  I think that’s respectable,” he replies.  Her fingers push around his waist and sneak up his chest.  Her palms rest against his skin and his smile widens as he leans back against her.  “Who cares what Paris thinks of you?  You caught the interest of a diplomat.” 

 

“Are you going to keep bringing that up?”  She breathes against his skin. 

 

“No,” he says.  His hand covers hers.  He squeezes her hand then, expelling a breath in disappointment at his own jealousy.  “I almost lost you, Colette, and we would have been over.  I would have spent the rest of my life thinking of you as the one that got away.” 

 

“You did not lose me, Dean,” she says, smile against his neck, “I am right here, and I am happy to live in sin with you.” 

 

“Oh, we’re living in sin now?”  He asks with a laugh. 

 

He lifts her hand from his chest and turns to face her.  That’s when she says, “Something like that.” 

 

-

 

She kisses him on the street, hand entwined with his as she does.  Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, the brown curls only slight at the ends, and her dress stops just above her knees.  He wonders how he got so lucky.  It’s different than with Bridget.  She was always beauty and demanded attention the moment she entered the room; her smile looked force.  Colette makes a statement, is elegance and grace but she draws the attention; her smile is his reality. 

 

He’s asked her 5 times in the last few days if it’s real.  Her touches are intimate and her reassurance is his certainty.  He can’t help smiling when she kisses him.  He thinks they fit together perfectly. 

 

The truth, however, is that they haven’t found much to go on in regards to her brother.  Four days of looking, of almost, of searching through the countless files of the orphanage, and they’ve barely found anything.  Sometimes he thinks about suggesting just hiring a private investigator, but then he thinks twice because this is what he’d offered to do.  He’s just frustrated by their lack of results. 

 

“Are you over Bridget, Dean?”  She asks. 

 

He’s caught off guard by her question because he thought that they had moved passed that.  He had thought that even though he had been so close to marrying Bridget that he’d made it clear he’d choose Colette in a heartbeat.  He smiles at her as he brings them to another stop on the street, and he looks at her. 

 

“I just want you,” he replies.

 

He slips his free hand onto her waist and begins swaying.  They do that for a few minutes, eyes locked on one another without any words passing between them.  She smiles and tilts her head, her hand coming up to the back of his neck as her fingers twist around the strands on his collar.  He kisses her again, brief and determined like he can’t help it.  She laughs quietly against his mouth, the vibration of her laughter transferring to his lips. 

 

She asks, “Do you love me, Dean?” 

 

“I love you so much,” he says then. 

 

“I would not have been happy with the diplomat,” she says, “I am happy with you.” 

 

-

 

A heavy knock on the door wakes him up.  He slowly peels his eyes open to see the harsh rays of the sun beaming in through the window.  His arm is circled around her waist, his fingers tucked beneath her hip. She must’ve found his haphazardly discarded shirt on the floor somewhere last night because she’s wearing it.  All he has on is a pair of boxer shorts. 

 

The knocking returns and it makes her shift in his arms.  She doesn’t have any pants on so he reluctantly releases her from his grasp and grabs his black pants hanging on the chair at the table.  She rolls onto her back and looks up at him, hair cast behind her on the pillow, bedding pulled up to the bottom of her ribcage, and she looks so beautiful that he is already angry at whoever is at the door. 

 

“What time is it?”  She asks.  Her tiredness peaks out into her voice and her nose scrunches at him as she stretches. 

 

He smirks tiredly, running his hands over his hair to half-heartedly brush it.  He says, “Early.” 

 

She pulls a face, and reaches for his pillow before throwing it at him.  He catches it and tosses it back on the bed beside her.  She wraps her arms around it like it’s his replacement.  He thinks of it as betrayal because all he wants is to be back in bed with her.  Before he can get to the door, the knocking returns. 

 

He pulls it open to see 3 smiling faces belonging to Pan Am stewardesses.  They pay no attention to him and run passed him into the bedroom.  He guesses it’s nothing they haven’t seen before since they’ve all been swimming together.  He sighs and closes the door behind them.  When he turns, he finds that Kate, Maggie, and Laura have all surrounded Colette on the bed. 

 

Maggie’s nearly screaming when she says, “Colette, we miss you so much.” 

 

It’s only been a week since they’ve seen each other, since they’d all landed in Paris together.  He laughs then and pads further into the room as Colette sits upright.  She offers him an apologetic smile as the girls all talk at her at the same time. 

 

Laura slowly turns to him and says, “We miss you, too, Dean.” 

 

“Yeah,” Maggie adds absently, “I guess that too.” 

 

He shakes his head at predictable Maggie.  It isn’t until this moment in their vacation that he realizes how much he misses the flight crew, how much he misses flying.  He makes his way to the side of the bed that Colette had been sleeping on and somehow manages to slip between the headboard and Laura.  He’s barely sat down before Colette’s reaching for his hand.  She pulls it into her lap as she entwines their fingers. 

 

“How is the search for your brother going?”  Kate asks. 

 

“Well,” Dean says after a few moments of silence. 

 

“The search is not so good,” Colette adds. 

 

Kate smiles apologetically and says, “I’ll see if I can get someone to look into it for you.” 

 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion but Colette just thanks her for the help.  He isn’t sure what Kate and her contacts could come up with that they can’t, but he supposes that help is better than nothing.  She leans her head on his shoulder and he thinks of the way that Kate, Laura, and Maggie aren’t surprised by the show of intimacy.  He wonders if they’ve been pushing for it all along. 

 

-

 

Amidst getting 2 cups of coffee from the lobby, Dean runs in to Ted.  Coffee spills all over his blue button up and Ted’s polo.  They both grit through it as Dean shakes his hand.  Ted smiles, white teeth flashing, watch clanking with the movement of their handshake. 

 

Ted says, “Captain Lowery.” 

 

Dean’s embarrassed by the respect because he’s formally lost it from their employer, but he nods in acknowledgement anyway.  He asks, “How long are you here for?” 

 

Ted shrugs and says, “A day or two.  They’re doing maintenance on our plane.” 

 

“Just wondering when I’ll be getting my lady back,” Dean admits.  Ted’s lips purse in question as Dean sets the cups of coffee down on the nearest flat surface.  He sighs then.  He adds, “We were woken up by your flight crew banging on our door.” 

 

“Those girls are thick as thieves,” Ted comments. 

 

Dean shrugs then, pushing his hands against his hips as he catches sight of the women stepping out of the elevator all changed out of their standard uniform.  Colette is wearing black, silk pants, a black sweater, and a pair of heels that make her out to be as tall as he is.  Maggie is wearing a short dress that’s probably a little too tight.  Kate is wearing a graceful dress, looking like she has a business meeting at any giving moment.  Laura is wearing a pink dress that stops just above her knees.  Dean sees out of the corner of his eye that Ted can’t take his eyes off of her.  He briefly wonders what’s developed between them. 

 

He meets the group halfway into the lobby and Colette notices the spill on his shirt.  She starts swiping at the mess.  She says, “Oh no, Dean.  What happened?” 

 

He laughs then, fingers catching her elbows.  He says, “I actually just ran into Ted here.  We had a little accident.  It’s harmless.”  Ted laughs nervously, blushing when Laura looks at him in concern.  Dean swallows and pushes his hands up her arms to her shoulders, a light touch skating over her skin to bring his fingers down to her wrists.  “Where are you girls off to?” 

 

“Non, mon amour,” she replies, “We are all going for some breakfast.” 

 

“Great,” he says.  With a brief kiss to her temple he adds, “Let us get cleaned up real quick and we’ll be back down.” 

 

With that, Ted presses the button for the elevator they’d just exited.  Colette nods as Maggie loops an arm through hers, Maggie’s fingers expertly inching Dean away to the point that he can’t tell if it was on purpose or on accident, and tugs Colette with her.  Dean shakes his head as he watches his dearly beloved retreat away from him.  They all forget about the coffee. 

 

-

 

Those few days with the entire Pan Am crew prove as unfruitful as it does frustrating.  As Dean struggles to find a leg to stand on with Colette, despite the fact that she’s pretty much given him all of the reassurance that he could handle, he grows more and more frustrated that Maggie, Kate, Ted, and Laura are a constant presence.  Colette, ever the French woman, is anything but shy when it comes to affection.  Their departure makes Colette feel sad, but it comes with a hint from Kate of where her brother might be. 

 

-

 

They check out the bar at the address that Kate’s information suggested.  He can tell that she’s nervous, that she doesn’t know what to expect.  She hasn’t mentioned what she thinks she’s going to find or if she’s scared at the idea that she could actually possibly be meeting her brother in the next few minutes.  She hasn’t said anything, but he follows her directly to the bar.  She speaks in French to the barkeeper and motions with two fingers. 

 

A shot is immediately poured in front of her, clear liquid which he presumes is vodka, and she downs it without hesitation.  Dean aptly reaches into his pocket and tosses a few bills onto the bar.  The man behind the bar takes the money and heads back down the bar.  She grabs the other shot and offers it to him.  He politely declines, motions for her to take it. 

 

The rock and roll music is too loud for them to hear each other easily anyway so he doesn’t bother trying to say anything just yet.  A familiar song begins playing and he wonders if he should ask her to dance, wonders if that would help her take the edge off.  She sips on the other glass like she’s waiting for him to change his mind. 

 

He lifts his hand to her upper arm as he steps closer, attempting to silently reassure her.  He doesn’t know how to give her strength in this.  He doesn’t have any long lost siblings he never knew existed.  He doesn’t really know how to help her.  He smiles reassuringly at her, but he can see the fear alight in her eyes. 

 

He leans close to her ear and asks, “Are you alright?” 

 

“I am scared,” she replies.  He looks at her then, eyebrows furrowed, gaze tightened in her direction.  “What if he does not like me?” 

 

“That’s impossible,” he says, “You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever met.” 

 

She laughs quietly, like all of her dreams are coming true.  She says, “Mon amour.”

 

She says, “Merci.  Thank you.” 

 

Her hands grasp his sides.  She says, “I could not do this without you.” 

 

He lightly shakes his head and tells her, “You can do anything you set your mind to, and you can do this.” 

 

It takes a few minutes before the barkeeper makes his way back to their side of the bar, but when he does, she swallows and bites the bullet.  She asks the barkeeper if a Conrad Rouzet works there, but the man tells her not anymore.  She sighs then, shoulders slumping, and nods at the man before voicing him her thanks.  Dean rests his hands on her shoulders.  She circles his hands and squeezes them. 

 

-

 

He says,

 

_I love you_

_I’d do anything for you_

 

-

 

Somewhere between dusk and dawn her tears turns into laughter.  Her heels dig into the back of his calves as she forces his hips harder into hers, their laughter quickly turning into fleeting breaths.  Her fingers smooth over his shoulder blades, back of her hands scratching against the material of his t-shirt.  Her chin touches his forehead and his mouth sinks onto the skin of the neck, tongue sweeping just above her collarbone. 

 

He kisses her then, her nails digging half-moons into his skin, the barbaric walls rattling with envy as she moans.  His hands, roaming, tangled somewhere between the sheet and the hem of her shirt, push harder against the edges of her frame.  It’s funny to him how even without words, how even her whine, her desire, sounds innately French.  She sounds like she’s stuttering as her body reacts to his touch. 

 

“Dean,” she mutters.  Her soft hands push down his back, etching down his spine.  Her fingertips ever so slightly brush over the small of his back.  He groans into her neck, teeth pressing into her skin there, just at the base of her throat, and her moan vibrates against his mouth.  She says, “Dieu.”

 

She whispers, “Je t’aime.”

 

“I love you,” he says. 

 

And she kisses him then, soft and slow, fingers skating over the waistband of his boxers.  His fingers splay out against her stomach.  His thumbs dig into her hipbones as her tongue flits against his.  Her hands make their way to his hair, fingers delving into the blond locks.  He sighs into her mouth.  His fingers slide to her thigh, and he clutches there for a moment before he pulls her leg up further. 

 

“S’il vous plaît, s’il vous plait,” she whispers against his mouth.  He pushes his hand up her torso between her breasts.  She arches her stomach against his in return.  She says, “Je te veux.” 

 

His hands meet her hips again as he sits upright long enough to slide her panties off.  He kisses her knee then, mouth sliding up to her thigh before she follows his lead.  She closes the space between them, her mouth meeting his as his hands find the hem of her shirt.  She does the same, tugging his shirt off over his head.  He hears her pleas, doesn’t understand them, wants to give her whatever she’s asking him for.  Her hands find the waistband of his boxers.  He inhales deeply, breath hitching in his throat, her tongue making shapes in his mouth. 

 

She pushes at his boxers and lightly kisses his jaw.  Her fingers press against his back, pulling him down with her.  She says, “Me faire l'amour.”

 

Her words stick to his skin as his hands find hers.  He entwines their fingers, pulling their hands close to his chest.  He presses his lips against her hand then, and he wonders how he’d ever been so stupid as to almost lose her.  Her hair is splayed against the pillow beneath her.  The shirt surrounding her is loose, only hugging her elbows, and he can’t help but smile then. 

 

He says, “God you’re beautiful.” 

 

He watches the rose color touch her cheeks in the glow of the stars outside and he kisses her cheeks there.  He pushes into her, his hand pressing hers against the pillow above her head, his elbows pressing against the mattress on either side of her, and she moans then.  His mouth covers hers to drown out her noises so as to not disturb the people next door with their paper thin walls.  Her tongue rolls in his mouth, circling his, and he feels a shiver skate down his spine. 

 

Seconds feel like minutes, like her hand in his, her hand against his cheek, is only a fleeting memory.  The feel of her surrounding him, the warmth of her making him ache, and he can’t catch his breath.  He has to pull his mouth away from hers but their gazes connect.  He looks her in the eye as she mutters incoherent French, as she comes, as she writhes beneath him and pushes her calves into his thighs. 

 

“Vous bel homme,” she says, “Mon amour.” 

 

Her lips touch his jaw as he orgasms, and she kisses him all over.  She kisses his chin, his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, his mouth, his neck, his shoulders, and she kisses him until he kisses her back.  He smiles then, the corners of his mouth touching hers, his soul merging with hers.  Her fingers slide into his hair as he lays down beside her, and she toys with the hair at the nape of his neck until he falls asleep. 

 

-

 

She packs her bags with a slight pout.  His mouth mocks the shape of hers as he crosses the room to press a kiss against her temple.  He knows that she’s upset that her time off has come to an end without fruition and he doesn’t know how to be supportive about this.  He can only vow to spend the rest of his time off to help her look for him.  She zips up her Pan Am bag and sighs. 

 

He forces a smile across his mouth and says, “I can always stay here in France and keep searching for your brother.” 

 

“But you live in New York,” she replies. 

 

“I just know how disappointed you are that we didn’t get any answers,” he says with a sigh, “I’ll stay if you want me to.” 

 

-

 

He takes her to the airport.  She starts crying before they get to the gate and he quickly wipes her eyes.  He kisses her once, twice, three times before he wraps his arms around her.  He holds her there for a long while, until she almost misses her flight. 

 

He says, “I love you.” 

 

And she says, through a tear-filled gaze, “Je t’aime, mon amour.”


	2. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February brings many obstacles.

**_1964, February_ **

 

-

 

This month brings an extra day.  A day to make mistakes.  A day to stay in bed.  The best day ever, if one pleases because the day belongs to the individual.  For President Johnson, he uses this day to announce the development of a jet airplane, capable of sustained flight at more than 2,000 miles per hour and of altitudes of more than 70,000 feet.  This month also instates the 24th Amendment of the United States of America.  Cuba cuts off water supply in the United States.  Italy asks for help to keep the Leaning Tower of Pisa from leaning too far.  Dean spends 29 days in France looking for Conrad Rouzet. 

 

-

 

After receiving a phone call from Colette informing him that she’s landed, that she’s home and going to crawl into bed, that she misses him and wishes she hadn’t had to leave, Dean returns to the bar that Conrad had been traced to.  The scene is different than when he was there with Colette, or maybe he’s just more aware of what is going on around him.  If he had to admit, he had been focused on his counterpart and had missed some details. 

 

When he’d stayed, he’d made a commitment to seeing the search through.  He isn’t a private investigator by any means and he isn’t sure his search will shed much light, but he hopes for Colette’s sake he will be able to come up with something.  He doesn’t even know what he’s doing there at  _La Barre_ , asking locals questions that either they won’t understand or the being given the answers he can’t understand.

 

He remembers Colette one time her telling him what the word lost is in French, but he can’t recall what she’d said.  He doesn’t know any words in French.  He’s an American in Paris without anything to help him get by.  He sits at the bar for half an hour, everyone around him chattering away in French, and he sips on his drink.  The amber liquid is lukewarm from sitting in his glass for too long. 

 

He tries a couple of times to start conversation with the barkeeper but his lack of French makes it hard for them to communicate.  He realizes then that he needs a translator.  He guess he never actually thought it through because he’d wondered through Paris with Colette. 

 

-

 

He goes back to the hotel defeated and a little drunk.  He’s caught in the hotel lobby by the concierge.  The man says, “Captain Lowery, you missed a phone call from Miss Valois.  I told her that you were out.” 

 

“Did she leave a message?” 

 

The concierge puts his hands behind his back and smiles politely.  He says, “She said she was flying out.” 

 

“Did she say where she was flying?”  Dean asks, feigned smile on his features. 

 

The concierge looks bored.  His eyelids flutter closed and back open so slow that Dean thinks the man before him is on the verge of falling asleep.  His mouth curves upwards and Dean thinks that the man is trying to smile, he’s just wildly missing the mark by a mile.  Dean’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he studies the man’s face.  He just can’t figure the man out.  He’s expressionless. 

 

He purses his lips for a brief moment.  He says then, “She said she was flying to Puerto Rico.  She will phone you when she lands.” 

 

He kicks himself then for being gone when she phoned him.  It sobers him up immediately.  He already misses the sound of her voice, the way her words dance together and her eyes sparkle when she speaks.  He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another French person speak the way that she does. 

 

He says his thanks to the man and makes his way up to the hotel room.  The hotel room is dark and the lights from Eiffel Tower are more annoying than romantic now that he’s alone.  He thinks back on their time spent together, considers what her words were.  Her French was like code, words of grace and certainty trying to convey to him what is deep in her heart. 

 

He’s just a good ole country boy who flies planes for a living.  He doesn’t know how to be proper.  He was lucky enough to escape from the farm.  And he knows that Colette, in all of her beauty, is far too good for him.  She’s more intelligent, more likeable.  He tries to do the right thing by her but he’s already done the only thing to her that he never should have done, that he didn’t even know he was capable of doing. 

 

As he strips down to his boxers and gets into bed, he thinks that maybe he will be able to do the right thing to win her heart forever. 

 

-

 

He goes back to that bar every night for a couple of days before that barkeeper is there again.  He casually sips on a beer at the bar awaiting his return, and he’s discovered this isn’t the kind of bars that many Americans visit.  An American straggler wandered in about two days ago, sat next to him at the bar and carried on idle conversation.  The conversation brought him with the suggestion that he either needs to learn French or he needs to pick up an interpreter. 

 

He had been impatient in hearing from his own French lady as she’s been high in the skies every day since she left him.  He can’t keep up with her, not from this odd time zone that his mind isn’t quite familiar with.  His face goes unshaved and the barkeeper who had heard of Conrad still doesn’t pay much mind to him.  The barkeeper doesn’t seem to understand what he’s saying beyond his drink order so he becomes annoyed. 

 

Just then the lounge singer takes a seat beside him.  She says, “He doesn’t know any English, if you’re trying to talk to him.  We don’t get a lot of Americans in here.” 

 

His eyebrow pops up on his forehead, taken off guard by her abrupt and unexpected voice.  He takes a sip from his drink and sets it back on the counter, turning his body to face her in the slightest.  He laughs a bit and asks, “Can you translate?” 

 

“No,” she replies, “I don’t know enough French to have conversation.” 

 

“But you work here,” he points out. 

 

She laughs then, her laugh tired and languid.  She says, “I’m from Chicago.  I only sing two nights a week.” 

 

“Why did you come to Paris?”  He asks, thick eyebrows knitting in the space on the middle of his forehead. 

 

“Why does anyone come to Paris?”  She counters.  He shakes his head lightly and shrugs.  She sighs then.  The barkeeper returns with a drink and places it in front of the woman.  She stirs the straw and says, “Romance.  I fell in love with a Frenchmen who didn’t tell me he was married and he never truly expected me to follow him here.” 

 

“What happened?”  He asks. 

 

She takes a drink from the glass in her fingers.  She swallows it, places the glass back on the counter, and she says, “What always happens.  He wouldn’t leave his wife.  She found out about me and let it go on for a while.  Now I’m here, working in a bar where no one speaks a word of English and in love with a man I see maybe once a week.  Why are you here?” 

 

“I’m looking for someone,” he explains.  He picks at the label on his beer bottle, doesn’t really make eye contact with the woman.  She snorts then, lips on the edge of her glass, and that get his attention.  He shakes his head.  “It’s not like that.” 

 

“Then what is it like?”  She presses. 

 

His gaze narrows on her.  He says, “My girlfriend just found out she has a brother and I’m looking for him.” 

 

“You’re a long way from home,” she replies. 

 

“Yeah, well, he used to work here.  That guy-“ 

 

“Gus,” she supplies. 

 

“Gus told her that he doesn’t work here anymore.  I guess he doesn’t know where her brother might have gotten off to,” he shrugs then.  The American singer from Chicago working in a Paris bar looks at him like she’s still waiting to hear more.  He takes another drink from his bottle to wet his throat, swallows and licks his lips to keep them from going dry.  He says, “We’ve kind of reached a dead end.  She doesn’t have any other family left.  I wanted to find him for her, to help her not be so alone anymore.” 

 

“What’s his name?  Maybe I’ve heard of him,” she says. 

 

He sighs then, downing the rest of his drink.  He says, “His name’s Conrad – Conrad Rouzet.”

 

“I’ll ask around,” she replies. 

 

-

 

He receives a call late into the afternoon while he’s hanging around in the lobby, loitering for a translator.  He answers it at the front desk and he’s relieved when it’s Colette.  He feels like he hasn’t heard her voice in forever, like he’s starting to forget what she looks like, and he can’t help the stupid grin that has graced his features.  He hopes that she won’t ask him about his search because he doesn’t really have any information to offer her.

 

He retires to his room to take the call.  He says, “I miss you.” 

 

“I miss you, too, mon amour,” she says, hints of a smile in her voice. 

 

“This call will be expensive,” he notes. 

 

She sighs and says, “I do not care.  I want to speak with you.” 

 

He feels relieved, feels desperate to hear her voice.  “I’m happy to hear that,” he says, “I feel like it’s been forever since we’ve spoken.” 

 

“We spoke last night,” she reminds him with a small laugh. 

 

And his eyebrow pops up on his forehead then as he asks, “Did you just wake up?” 

 

“Oui,” she replies, “I am still in bed.  I have a flight to London in three and a half hours.” 

 

“London?”  He asks.  He presses the phone harder against his ear.  It’s been 8 days since he’s seen her and at this point he’d do anything to see her.  He sits on the edge of the mattress, his fingers absently toying with the sheets of the bed.  “How long will you be there?” 

 

“Just for the night,” she says.  He can hear a strain in her words like she must be getting up.  He sighs then, preparing himself for what she’s going to say net.  “I have to go.  Je t’aime, mon amour.” 

 

“Safe flight,” he replies. 

 

-

 

He goes downstairs to the lobby and asks the concierge to call him a car.  The concierge looks displeased per usual, but he is learning that it’s just the man’s face.  He smiles at the concierge in hopes that it will help ease the moment, but the man just blinks slowly.  Dean’s mouth falls into a frown as the concierge picks up the phone to call for a taxi.  He has his bag in one hand, poised and ready to go, sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt. 

 

“Your car will be here shortly,” the concierge says as he hangs up the phone. 

 

“Great,” he says, “If a Miss Valois calls will you let her know that I will call her back?” 

 

-

 

After a 5 hour drive in the convertible with the top up, Dean pulls up to the airport and parks the car.  He leaves his overnight bag in the backseat and takes his sunglasses off of his face.  He hangs the sunglasses in his shirt collar, pulling his jacket tighter around his neck in the cold air, and heads inside.  The airport is swarming with people, but he hasn’t seen any particularly familiar faces. 

 

He absently checks his watch to see how much longer before the plane arrives and notes that he still has 15 minutes, not to mention to wait for clean up afterward.  Without his captain uniform, he won’t be able to get back to the terminal to wait so he’s forced to wait in the lobby.  He paces, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, his shoes sliding on the dirty linoleum.  He checks his watch again, considers going back to his car and getting his license so he can get back to the terminal but just as he does, he spots that familiar flight crew he’s grown accustomed to. 

 

Always tact and grace, Colette sees him from the top of the escalator and nods curtly.  He can see her face light up though and he smiles big enough for the both of them.  When the crew gets to the bottom of the escalator and walk in his direction, she finally smiles.  The rest of the crew nods, including Ted, although Laura somehow manages to direct him to shut his mouth before monopolizing Dean’s ability to converse. 

 

Colette says then, “Good evening, Captain Lowery.” 

 

He bounces on his toes and says, “Hello, Miss Valois.  How was your flight?” 

 

“It was lovely.  Thank you,” she replies.  He pushes his tongue into his cheek as he matches her pace while exiting the airport.  He’s always surprised by her ability to stay collected and classy.  He lunges ahead of her and pushes the door open, his smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he suddenly finds himself holding the door open for a large number of people.  She waits for him though, nose scrunching just a bit in the cold.  “What are you doing here, Dean?” 

 

“I drove in to see you,” he says.  He thinks he sees her shiver so he pushes his coat off of his shoulders.  He drapes his coat over her shoulders and drops his hand to the small of her back, guiding her in the direction of his rental vehicle. 

 

She pauses as he opens the door, her gaze slowly shifting to him.  She says, “We are only here for the night.” 

 

“One night with you is worth it,” he replies. 

 

His fingers tap against hers as both of their hands linger on the door.  She takes him by surprise then, leaning forward and lightly pressing a kiss against his lips.  The surprise is welcomed as she lifts her hand into his hair, and he is pleased to see the wide smile on her mouth when they pull apart. 

 

“I am very happy to see you, mon amour,” she says then. 

 

-

 

Dean shivers beneath her touch. 

 

-

 

He says,

 

_I’m afraid what might have happened to me if I hadn’t gotten you back._

_You’re like a dream come true._

_I love you completely._

 

-

 

She says  _I missed you, Dean_  while kissing him. 

 

She says  _You missed me, too, no?_

 

-

 

The bare minimum of the way she constructs sentences leaves him baffled at her beauty.  She is a state of grace, a state of happiness, a manner of love, a matter of life.  He thinks she’s the kind of woman who could make even the darkest men change their life path.  He thinks he’s lucky, lucky enough that she forgave him. 

 

He asks, “Do you have any secrets from me?” 

 

She laughs then, fingers bracing his cheeks as she pulls him close and kisses him lightly.  She says, “No, I have no secrets from you.” 

 

That’s when he says, “I’ve been keeping something from you.”  She stills completely in her movements, no long moving about and getting her clothing out of her overnight bag to change into.  She looks at him then, scared as she swallows.  His eyes widen then, realizing what it may seem.  He says, “Nothing like that.” 

 

“Oh,” she says, her mouth lingering in the frown. 

 

“I just,” he starts and stops just as quickly as the words have come to him.  His eyes fall to his fingers as he sits on the edge of the bed.  He feels like a child, no longer a commanding officer taking control.  He is at her complete grace, melting to her wishes and desires.  “I keep thinking about our future together.” 

 

“Jésus, Dean, vous me avez fait peur,” she replies. 

 

He smiles softly, says, “In English?” 

 

“Oh, sorry,” she says, “You scared me.” 

 

He reaches for her then and pulls her towards him.  She is still buttoned up tightly in her Pan Am uniform and he feels wrong disturbing her when she’s Pan Am perfection.  Her fingers press against his arms, her mouth shaped like confusion mixed with an apology. 

 

He laughs gently.  He asks, “Is that going to happen a lot?” 

 

“Oui,” she says then.  She smiles too for a moment.  His hands find the small of her back and pushes upward until he can feel the clasp of her bra.  She expels a breath as she steps away from him, shivering as his hands absently tickle her skin through her shirt.  She says, “I love my job, Dean.” 

 

“I know you do, Colette,” he replies, pushing himself to his feet.  “I’m not saying anything about you quitting your job.  I just wanted you to know that I’ve thought about our future together, and that I realize I’ll need to learn some French.” 

 

She laughs then and says, “I’m sorry.  I will try to speak only English.” 

 

“No,” he disagrees, “The French is sexy.  I just don’t understand any of it.” 

 

-

 

“How do you say  _love_  in French?”  He asks. 

 

“Amour,” she replies. 

 

“I amour you,” he says, with a light shake of his head at how wrong it sounds. 

 

“No.  Je t’aime,” she says.  She pauses then, her hands coming up to his face, thumbs brushing over his jawline.  She smiles there, the corners of her mouth touching her eyes.  His hands come up to hers.  She tilts her head in the slightest and translates, “I love you.” 

 

-

 

“Come,” she says, extending her hand to him.  He sets his glass on the countertop in front of him and turns on his stool to face her.  He smiles then, taking her hand in his and tugging her towards him.  He lightly presses his lips against her hand, making a trail up her arm every few inches until his mouth finds hers.  She laughs against his mouth, the vibration transferring from hers to his.  She says, “No, dance.” 

 

He steps to the floor at her request and follows her lead.  He doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought to ask her to dance with him.  He guesses that on some levels it’s because all of that movement distracts from his ability to look at her.  He knows that she loves to dance, despite the fact that she’s never told him so, but he’s never seen her turn down a dance. 

 

She places her hand on his shoulder as he slides his hand around her waist and pulls her to him; he thinks of the way they fit together, in a way that he can’t ever remember fitting with anyone else.  When he thinks of her, of how perfect she is, of how she’s the perfect woman, he thinks of how he’d almost lost her over Bridget.  One month with her in different cities is better than one month with Bridget in every city.

 

That’s when he says, “Isn’t it ironic that I’ve been practically living in Paris for the last few weeks while you’ve been living in New York?” 

 

“You can come home,” she says. 

 

“My home or your home?”  He teases. 

 

“I’ll cook for you,” she baits. 

 

She looks mischievous and he can’t remember that last time he looked at someone who had that look and didn’t feel a sense of betrayal.  She makes him feel safe, better.  He groans in an exaggerated manner then and says, “Trying to lure me away from Paris?  The city of love.” 

 

“Oui,” she replies, “I wouldn’t have to go weeks without seeing mon amour if you did.” 

 

“You’re trying to make me into a househusband,” he says. 

 

She grins and says, “Now I like the sound of that.” 

 

-

 

She sounds like the sunrise, like an airplane taking flight, like everything that echoes in his mind when he can’t sleep at night, but she resonates there in the crevices where nothing else can ever penetrate. 

 

When she kisses him at 3am, hand slipping down his torso, he says, “You’re going to be tired tomorrow.” 

 

“Don’t want to give me a proper send off, Captain?”  She asks, quirked eyebrow popped up on her forehead. 

 

“I hate goodbyes,” he replies.  He manages to get the door to their hotel room open even though she’s being mildly distracting.  He laughs gently as her hands absently tickle his sides.  He hadn’t realized she is a sloppy drunk, a touchy drunk, a distracting drunk.  Once the door shuts behind them he says, “Besides, you’ve been giving me all of these reasons for me to come back to New York with you and I promised that I would help you find your brother.  I want to help you find your family.” 

 

“I have a family,” she says.  His eyebrows furrow in confusion.  She says, “I have the girls and I have you.  You’re my family.” 

 

He kisses her then, her fingers twisting in his hair as she receives him with slightly parted lips, mouth opening wider beneath his.  She pushes him further into the room, pushes him towards the bed, and her hands push harder against him.  He succumbs to her advances then, sliding his hands down her frame to rest on her thighs, fingers grasping at her pert skin. 

 

The pads of her fingers stick to his shoulders just beneath the collar of his shirt.  Her palms press against his chest, pushing him back towards the bed, and he drags her with him, pulling on her and pressing his hips against hers.  Her legs knock against his before her knees press against the mattress on either side of his hips.  His fingers press against her skin, her hands trailing down his torso and pulling his shirt out from his pants. 

 

Her fingers trail to the button in his pants and she pushes off of him long enough to slip her hand in the space between them and unzip his pants then, the pressure on his waist loosening.  For a moment he thinks he can breathe.  That’s until her fingers graze the bulge in his boxers and he inhales a sharp breath.  She grins then at his reaction, leans into him whispering, “Aww, pauvre bébé. Est-il _difficile_ de résister?”

 

He lifts his hand to her neck then and pulls her mouth down to his, his other hand slipping past the hem of her dress.  Their kiss becomes teeth and mixed noises when he drags his fingers along the edge of her panties, his hand at her neck sliding to the zipper on her dress.  Her mouth opens and she moans then which prompts his hips to thrust upward.  She pushes on his chest then to sit upright, pulling her dress off over her head. 

 

As she does this, he takes his shirt off over his head and tosses it onto the floor.  Her dress follows and they both kick off their shoes, the sound of clunking as they land on the floor in a pile echoing throughout the room.  He takes in the sight of her, his hands lightly smoothing over her sides, and she pulls away from him long enough to loop her fingers in the waistband of his boxers beneath the layers and tug his pants off.  And she stands there, looking unapologetically beautiful and suddenly sober, taking her panties off before climbing on top of him again.

 

So she slides onto him, his fingers buried deep into her hair, the weight of her on top of him, his tongue twisted against hers, and it feels more real than anything else he has ever felt.  It’s the way her skin feels beneath his fingers, like cool milk mixed with honey on a hot summer day, and his thumbs press against his hipbones.  She moans then, low and quiet as she rolls her hips, and he’s entranced by her.  Her fingers wrap around his wrist and she moves that hand up to her chest.  He sits up to kiss her, his other hand sliding to the clasp of her bra at the middle of her back. 

 

She leans down to kiss him then.

 

 

-

 

His lip pulsates from where she bites him a little too hard.  He makes her scream a little too loud because she tells him that the girls had a lot of questions.  What he finds out years from now is that Laura had been asking her if he was going to marry her. 

 

-

 

When he gets back to Paris, there is an all too familiar blonde waiting for him in the lobby and whatever happiness he’d felt upon leaving Colette a little over 5 hours ago has come crashing down at the sight of this woman.  He outwardly and unabashedly groans as she draws closer.  He pulls his overnight back closer to him, using it as leverage to put more space between them. 

 

“Dean,” she says, “I want to speak with you.” 

 

“I don’t want to talk to you, Bridget.  I thought I made that clear,” he replies, not slowing down or hesitating for even a moment.  The only thing he hates is that he has to wait for the elevator to arrive. 

 

“I want to apologize.  I want to tell you the truth,” she says. 

 

He sighs then, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.  He says, “It’s too late for the truth.” 

 

“I just wanted you to know, Dean, I thought-“

 

“Colette and I are together.  I have never felt anything more true or honest in my life.  She has been nothing but truthful with me long before you ever were,” he interjects.  The elevator gets to the lobby and the doors slide open.  He steps on and she follows him.  The doors slide closed much quicker than he would have preferred.  “What are you doing here?” 

 

“What are you?” 

 

He grunts then; he says, “What I’m doing here isn’t any of your business.” 

 

“Dean, listen,” she says, putting her hand on his forearm.  His eyes dart to the contact then, his eyebrows knitting together, and he slowly removes his arm from her touch.  He doesn’t want her to touch him and that’s been a feeling he was waiting for a long time to arrive.  She pouts then but he ignores it.  “I can explain everything.  You just have to listen to me.” 

 

“It’s not going to change anything between us,” he says, “I’m in love with Colette and, if you must know, I’m here to help her look for her brother.  As soon as I find him, I’m going home.” 

 

“That must be tough,” she says, “You don’t know how to speak French.” 

 

He gives her a blank stare for a moment too long before he says, “Look, it proves as challenging, true, but Colette deserves to know her family.”

 

“I’ll help you,” she says then. 

 

He laughs for a brief moment.  The elevator doors slide open on his floor and he steps out.  Much to his chagrin, she follows him and manages to match his pace.  He stops then in the middle of the hallway just a few doors down from his room.  He asks, “Why would you want to help me find my girlfriend’s brother?  Besides, you aren’t her favorite subject when it comes to our relationship.” 

 

“We all seek forgiveness in different ways, Dean,” Bridget says.  He doesn’t believe her. 

 

He says, “I let you come between us before.  You’re not coming between us again.  So if this is some scheme to win me back, it isn’t going to happen.” 

 

“I get it.  You’re with Colette,” she says, “You played a part in that, too.  You didn’t tell me that you were with her.” 

 

“It’s,” he starts, but he stops and sighs; he says, “It’s more complicated than that.  Mistakes were made and those mistakes aren’t going to be made again.” 

 

She nods curtly and he sighs, dragging a hand through his perfectly placed hair.  He says, “I’ll talk it over with her and I’ll let you know.” 

 

-

 

He thinks about the way Bridget came back the first time and Colette pushed him into her arms, about the way that he took the bait and fleshed out his attraction and inability to get over the woman who had left him without a word.  He thinks about the way he is finally with Colette, finally back with the woman he almost lost and how he knows better than to think that he’d ever find another woman like her.  And he thinks of the delicate way that she fills his hands, the way her curves press against him – the way she makes love to him. 

 

When she calls him saying she’d landed, he is heavy hearted when he tells her Bridget was waiting for him when he returned.  He explains to her everything.  He begs her to trust him. 

 

She says, “Je t’aime, mon amour.  Je compte sur toi.” 

 

“What?”  He asks. 

 

“I trust you,” she says. 

 

-

 

It takes about a week but Bridget finally helps him get some information.  A couple who often frequents the bar tells them that Conrad has been approached by a director after Conrad showed a passion for the arts.  When they try to ask where he went off to, the couple wasn’t really sure but they couldn’t tell him the director’s name.  It takes a few more days, a visit from the lounge singer from Chicago at the bar, and a handful of phone calls from Colette before Dean has good news. 

 

-

 

He says, “I found out where he is.  We’re going out to meet him tomorrow.” 

 

“I fly in two days from now,” she says, “Can you wait for me?” 

 

-

 

Colette arrives on a Wednesday evening.  He’s able to shake Bridget, finally, and go to the airport to meet her alone.  He smiles wide enough that it mirrors on her mouth.  She abandons all commitment to the Pan Am oath as she kisses him in the middle of the airport.  He smiles there against her mouth.  He takes her bag from her, her fingers briefly twisting around his.

 

She says, “I missed you, mon amour,” as she falls into step beside him. 

 

He pauses long enough to kiss her again and he says, “I don’t ever want to go that long without seeing you again.” 

 

“It does feel like I haven’t seen you in far too long,” she agrees. 

 

She loops her arm through his then, leans heavily against him.  He leads her to the same car that he’d been driving in London.  It looks a bit like his vehicle back home, but it’s inherently French.  He opens the car door for her, setting her bag in the backseat then. 

 

He asks, “Do you want to go back to the hotel first?  Maybe change?  Grab a bite?” 

 

“Bridget?”  She asks.

 

He’s honestly surprised it took her this long to bring Bridget up.  He shrugs then and says, “She was just translating for me.  I don’t think we need her anymore, do you?” 

 

“Dean,” she says, her fingers finding the collar of his jacket and sliding down to his chest, “You can’t just do that to her.  You can’t just ignore her when you see me.” 

 

“You’re a good woman,” he says, smiling, “But I didn’t want to confuse things.  We aren’t friends.  We were never really friends.  It wasn’t like what it is with you.” 

 

She smiles, pulling his coat tighter around him.  She lightly kisses him and says, “It’s decided.  She’s coming with us.” 

 

-

 

He finds it awkward to be waiting for a table with his ex-lover and his current lover, especially when he hasn’t seen the latter in almost two weeks.  Colette is overly considerate to Bridget’s feelings and doesn’t show him much affection, which frustrates him.  He can understand why she doesn’t reach out and touch him, but that doesn’t make it any easier on him especially when they are still navigating their beginning stages considering they haven’t had the opportunity to spend much time together. 

 

Their idle conversation is very surface – _How’s Kate?  How’s Maggie?  And Ted?_ – but never about them.  The subject doesn’t broach on the three of them as individuals or the triangle they almost entered months ago or even on his relationship with either of them.  He feels the tension resting there but none of the tension is directed from the one person who has every right to feel bothered by the situation. 

 

When they finally call them to their table, he presses his hand to the small of Colette’s back and walks beside her, matching her pace.  He can see the sadness in Bridget’s eyes and despite the fact that he knows the truth now, he can’t feel sorry for her.  He had a good thing going with Colette, he’d felt like there wasn’t ever anything but honesty between them and there still isn’t, and that had been missing with Bridget. 

 

They are taken to a booth where he slides in first, grabbing Colette by the hand and pulling in her behind him.  He can’t take the lack of contact anymore, not after going so long without it.  She smiles at him carefully as Bridget sits across from them.  He thinks about how a year ago the two women would have been sitting in opposite positions, thinks about how much of a mistake that honestly feels now. 

 

He says nothing, his words leaving him at the pain of the situation, but that’s when Colette says, “What’s going on?  Did something happen between you two?” 

 

“No,” Bridget answers without hesitation, “I just don’t know what to say.” 

 

“I just feel a little uncomfortable,” he admits. 

 

“Then maybe we need to talk about it,” Colette suggests, “Clear the air.” 

 

“I’m with you,” he says then, “I love you.  Whatever was between me and Bridget is in the past.” 

 

“I just want to apologize,” Bridget tells Colette, “Make amends.  You guys were my friends, are my friends, and I want you both to be happy.” 

 

He feels Colette’s eyes on him for just a moment and he reaches for her then, his hand finding hers.  He entwines their fingers together and rests their entwined hands near his thigh.  He wonders what she’s thinking, if she is upset at him. 

 

“I am happy,” he says.  He keeps looking at Colette, afraid to look at Bridget, afraid to make her think that she could possibly have a hand in his happiness anymore.  “It took me a long time to figure out just how to do that when it was staring me in the face all along.” 

 

Colette says, “I forgive you both.” 

 

“You’re a much better woman than I could ever be,” Bridget replies. 


	3. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March gives the gift that keeps on giving.

**_1964, March_ **

 

-

 

March proves to be different.  Dean discovers the joys of fast cars and hears rumors of jet airplanes.  Geraldine Jerrie Mock sets off on her flight around the world.  Malcolm X becomes a name, announces his desire to form a Black Nationalist Party.  Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor get married.  The stars shine bright.  The sun melts the snow away.  Colette meets her brother which gives Colette the opportunity to firmly talk Dean into returning to New York.  Their second fight isn’t as big as their first fight but it leaves a mark that lasts much longer than the first one.

 

-

 

He watches her from a distance as she approaches the set.  She’s never been on a movie set before but as he watches her fit into the view before him, he thinks that she belongs.  He sees it then, the star-studded beauty that she inhibits and the very being she encompasses that bewitches him.  He thinks that if she stays long enough, they will see that she belongs and won’t ever let her leave. 

 

It is the finality of the moment that leads them to this place, the make or break of the search, and the last thing he wants is to watch her heart break.  He’s just convinced her (or so he thinks) that love does exist for her.  So he watches her become the object of desire as all of the movement stops as she steps onto set, and he wonders if maybe he should buy a camera to take pictures of her.  She did let that man paint her once and if Dean has any creative ability it would be taking pictures of her. 

 

She looks back at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide and smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  She extends her hand to him, low and out of the limelight, and he hurries to her side.  He doesn’t remember ever being as enamored with another human being as he is with her.  His fingers slide in between hers and he gets lost in the mix of stardom.  She is the star and he is just there to support her. 

 

She asks, “What if he doesn’t like me?” 

 

He stops her then, pushing his hand into her hair as he attempts to brush the loose hairs out of her eyes.  He smiles reassuringly.  He says, “Of course he’s going to like you.  He’d be a fool not to like you.  You’re the kindest, most thoughtful person I know.  Just smile.” 

 

Just then, a man approaches them.  He asks, “Puis-je vous aider?”

 

“Oui, je suis à la recherche pour Conrad Rouzet,” she replies. 

 

“Par ici.” 

 

-

 

When she sees him the connection seems instantaneous, at least from what Dean can see.  He thinks that she recognizes her long lost brother right away even though he doesn’t seem to closely resemble the picture of him they’d seen too much.  He wonders then if he were in her position if he would be able to tell right away. 

 

But he doesn’t know what he’d expected after spending more than a month looking for the young man.  He has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose, and his hair looks particularly perfect – even more perfect than Dean’s hair, which is saying something if he does say so himself.  But when Conrad sees Colette, with Dean watching on just a few yards away, he pushes his sunglasses up into that perfectly coifed hair and grins.  Dean grimaces then as she approaches her accidentally inappropriate brother in her 2 inch heels and dress that falls just below her knees.  The vibrant yellow of her dress sticks against the lighting of the set and she glows like a being from heaven. 

 

He worries though about what the outcome of this meeting could be.  He’d tried to remain positive about the situation even when she had doubts, but he didn’t allow her to entertain the thoughts.  He had wanted to meet the kid before Colette so that he could be sure if he even wanted to meet his long lost sister, but his honesty with her didn’t allow room for him to discover the truth before her.  All he’s left to do is worry that she won’t get the results she deserves. 

 

It only takes a few minutes before she steps back in his direction, her face gracing the forced smile that Pan Am so expertly taught her to bear.  He’s learning the difference slowly and he wonders exactly what happened across the room.  When she reaches him, she loops her arm through his and grasps him a little tighter, uses him to brace herself a little more.  She doesn’t fill him in just yet, waits until they are away from the lights and the action. 

 

She says, “Now isn’t a good time.” 

 

He pauses then, forcing her to stop walking.  He asks, “A good time?  What does that mean?” 

 

“He’s working,” she replies, “He said he’ll have to get back to me.” 

 

“Did he seem, I don’t know,” he pauses then, contemplating his options, “Happy to meet you?” 

 

She sighs there, “I don’t know.  He seems, just busy.  He’s shooting a movie.  He said he’ll get back to me when he’s free and went back to work.” 

 

“Well, at least now he knows you exist,” he says. 

 

-

 

“Venez à la maison avec moi, Dean,” she says.  She touches him lightly then, her hands on his shoulders, her fingers grasping at him.  She leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek.  She sighs against his skin.  She says, “Come home with me.  I’ll make you dinner.  You can take me flying.” 

 

He smiles softly.  He replies, “We can fall in love all over again.” 

 

“We can take a walk in the park, go to the cinema,” she says, “You can take me to see that new Elvis film.” 

 

“Like I need another handsome devil to compete with,” he replies sarcastically. 

 

“You’re handsome in your own way,” she says then, squinting as she peers at him.  He pouts then, his bottom lip jutting out as her mouth slides into a grin.  She squeezes his shoulders for a brief moment before sliding her fingers to his jaw.  She says, “You already have my heart, Dean.  No one else can steal it from you.” 

 

“The prince almost did,” he reasons. 

 

“No,” she replies, “I thought you wanted someone else.  That hurt me.” 

 

He shifts from his left foot to his right, bracing himself for the conversation they should have had a long time ago.  He sighs.  He says, “I was confused.  I thought I was doing what you wanted me to do.  You pushed me away and I’m an idiot because I didn’t make the right choice, but I won’t make the wrong choice again.  I’m not stupid enough to risk losing you twice.  I don’t want her.  I want you, and when I think about my future, I see you in it.” 

 

“I’m too young to be thinking about forever,” she replies dramatically, “Think of what they’ll say about me.” 

 

“They’ll say that you sure are a lucky girl to get a guy like me,” he teases. 

 

“Very funny, Captain Lowery,” she replies, smacking him in the chest, “More like they’ll call me a whore for stealing my friend’s fiancée.” 

 

“First of all, you’re the furthest thing from a whore I’ve ever seen.  Second, we were never engaged.  And third, you didn’t steal me.  I wanted you to have me.  I gave myself to you,” he says. 

 

She pushes him back towards the bed then and he sits.  She leans against his knee, fingers pushing into his hair as she traces the outline of his face with her gaze.  She watches him in silence for a few moments as he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.  She smiles in response. 

 

“You’ll come home then, oui?”  She tries again. 

 

He smiles in return, pressing his lips against her arm.  He says, “Yes, dear.” 

 

-

 

Colette goes to dinner with Bridget and he thinks it’s a good thing that they are going to get the opportunity to talk everything out.  He politely declines the invitation for him to join them, telling Colette that he thinks he’s probably spent enough time with Bridget.  She jokes about him having two women hanging off of his arms but he just smiles gently and tells her that there’s only one woman he wants hanging off of his arm. 

 

Sometime after she left, he must have fallen asleep because he’s waking up to her sliding into bed behind him.  He barely peels his eye open when she’s sliding her arm over his waist and pressing her fingers against his diaphragm.  He exhales slowly and covers her hand with his own. 

 

She says, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

 

“It’s okay.  I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he replies.  He squeezes his hand in his.  Lifting their hands off of his chest, he rolls over beneath the limb to face her, promptly returning her touch to his skin.  He asks, “What time is it?” 

 

“Almost midnight,” she answers. 

 

He stifles a yawn.  He says, “Oh.  Did you have a good time?” 

 

“Oui,” she says.  He moves his head onto her shoulder, his hand over her torso.  He absently begins brushing his palm over her stomach, touch pushing to her arm and tracing circles in her skin there.  “These men asked us to go dancing.  I think Bridget went with them.”

 

“And you decided to come back here to me?”  He teases. 

 

She laughs, her fingers sliding into his hair.  She explains, “I already have a dance partner.” 

 

They lay like that for a little while, him tracing circles on her skin and her playing with the ends of his hair.  He, at some point, moves his head to her chest and her fingers spread out against the back of his scalp.  He tickles her sides and she laughs until she can distract him with lazy kisses until he falls asleep.

 

-

 

Sitting in the uncomfortable seat of coach makes him long for the captain’s seat again.  He can only imagine what Pan Am when be like when he returns to the captain’s seat, if he will even be able to fly first chair when he returns.  He doesn’t regret what he did because it was a sacrifice he made for something he believed in, for someone he cares about.  But he’s irrationally anxious on this particular flight. 

 

His girlfriend is working first class while he’s forced to sit back in coach.  Not that the service isn’t great as the stewardesses are trained to be, but the back of the plane is a hell of a long way away from the front of the plane.  He sighs and leans against the arm rest. 

 

Just then, Kate approaches and asks, “Need anything?” 

 

He pouts for a brief moment before he forces a smile.  He says, “Coach is really far away from the cockpit.” 

 

“It’s not that far,” Kate reassures, “Especially when the curtains are open.  You can get a good look all the way to the front.” 

 

He follows Kate’s gaze and that’s when he catches Colette’s.  She promptly winks at him and continues doing her job.  He never understood the service part of the job, just the flying part.  He thinks of how exhausting it must be to pretend to be upbeat on a constant basis even when the rest of your life is getting in the way. 

 

That’s when he asks, “Are you okay?” 

 

“I’m great,” Kate replies, eyebrow popping up on her forehead, confused, with a smile still pristinely painted across her lips. 

 

Dean realizes then that he hasn’t been home in 5 weeks. 

 

-

 

“Thank you,” Colette tells him as he follows her, glass of wine in hand, to her couch. 

 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion.  He asks, “Why are you thanking me?” 

 

She sits and sets her glass down on the coffee table.  He follows suit, draping his arm across the back of the couch.  She leans in to him, her hand coming to a rest on his stomach, and he finds that he wants to kiss her.  He almost entirely forgets that he still hasn’t been home, but he does need to go home soon.  He’s tired of looking at the same clothes. 

 

She expels a tired breath, her fingertips pinching the front of his shirt.  She says, “For being so wonderfully determined.  I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, even though I missed you terribly.” 

 

Her living room reminds him of the sunset – a mixture of oranges and yellows and pinks in the most complimentary way.  He likes the warmth, the way he almost feels at home even though he’s only been there a handful of time.  His hand finds the side of her scalp, fingertips lovingly adoring her. 

 

He says, “I do need to go home at some point.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

He looks at her then, slight smirk on her face.  He angles his torso towards her inquisitively.  He says, “That sounded like an invitation to move in with you to me.” 

 

“No,” she replies, “I can just come with you.  I’ll sleep in the Captain’s bed.” 

 

“And where will I sleep?”  He counters. 

 

She sits a little taller and says, “You can sleep on the couch.” 

 

“Oh, really?”  He asks with a laugh.  His hands find her hips and circle them easily.  He tugs her further down the couch, forcing her more onto her back, as he pushes himself up onto his knees.  He hovers over her, her palms easily pressing against his shoulders.  “Is that how you’re going to be?” 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, playing innocence. 

 

He thinks only a fool would fall for it.  He thinks she’s anything but innocent.  He thinks that, as her palms smooth over his chest, her innocence is quickly fleeing.  He cocks his head to the side, his fingers slipping just beneath the hem of her shirt.  His touch must tickle her skin because she’s giggling and he loves the way her laughter settles on her mouth. 

 

“Acting like you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as me,” he says; he reminds her, “Like you don’t like sharing the bed with me.” 

 

“It’s much roomier to share a bed with you when flying than it is to sleep in those twin beds,” she counters. 

 

“Oh, I see,” he says slowly, dramatically, pout forming on his mouth, “Just using me for my large mattress when we travel.” 

 

“Your very large mattress,” she repeats slowly, seductively, fingers traipsing closer to the waistband of his pants than he had originally prepared himself for; she says, “Oui, your large mattress is very complimentary when we are away.  What is your large mattress like here at home?” 

 

She kisses him then, looking for the unspoken answer to her question.  Her fingers delve into his hair, the blonde hairs lapping at her knuckle bones, and she draws him in closer.  Her tongue drags over his bottom lip, his mouth widening in response as he pushes his tongue out to meet hers.  He settles between her thighs, her legs wrapping around him and squeezing his hips. 

 

He absently wonders how old she was when she had sex for the first time, what other men made love to her before him.  He wonders if they will ever live down their sexual freedom, the way her touch lingers on his skin and her kiss sticks to his mouth.  He wonders who else has been lucky enough to have her the way that he has her now. 

 

Her lips paint a trail of kisses to his throat and he stops wondering about the other men she’s been with.  He can’t think much of anything other than her tongue sliding over his Adam’s Apple, her teeth nipping at the skin.  And he sighs then, breaths languid as he’s waned by her tactics, erection growing much too rapidly for his liking. 

 

That’s when he asks, “Aren’t you tired?” 

 

Her teeth scrape against his neck, lips ghost there, whispers whipping at his skin as she replies with, “Is that a euphemism?” 

 

He laughs there, her hands slipping beneath his shirt and tugging upward.  He crunches his muscles together to brace himself as she tosses his shirt to the floor.  She returns to kissing him, her wet kisses linger on his neck, collarbone, peck, between his nipples.  Her hand follows the trail then, goose bumps forming on his skin beneath her touch. 

 

He sighs, neck rolling as he tilts his head back, and he says, “You haven’t had much sleep.” 

 

“I’ll sleep after,” she replies, lifting her head and kissing his jaw. 

 

It’s there that he inhales, there that his nose brushes over hers before he kisses her.  Then he kisses her, hungry and desperate to memorize the way her mouth presses against his.  He doesn’t ever remember being so consumed, so determined to spend every moment with someone.  When her hands cradle his face, fingers hugging the contours of his frame, he pulls his mouth from hers. 

 

He says, “I love you.” 

 

Even in the light glow of the street lamps coming in from the street, her television a pitch black hole reflecting the rays of light that it draws in, he can see her blush.  Her fingers flex against his skin, his palms pressing hard into the cushion of the couch on either side of her, the tie in the hem of her shirt just tight enough that it exposes the slightest bit of her stomach and he can feel the contact of her skin where their stomachs meet, and he feels all the love he’s ever felt for anyone else wash away because the way he feels about her overpowers the way he could ever feel about anyone else.  He’d be happy to just look at her for the rest of his life, to drown all of his future sorrows in her.  And the words he speaks, _I love you_ , has never rang truer before. 

 

He says, “I love you more than anything.” 

 

She smiles then, saying, “Je t’aime, mon amour.” 

 

He says, “You are absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

She asks, “Will you love me when I’m no longer beautiful?”

 

He says, “It’s impossible that I will ever not love you.  You’re the perfect woman.” 

 

And her thighs squeeze his waist again, her legs drawing him closer as she pulls them upward, the bottom of her pants etching further up her leg and pressing against the top of her calf.  Her hair spread at beneath her, her breath hot on his skin, her smile a ghost on his lips, and all he can think about is how he never wants to let her go.  His mother had always said _find a good woman, Dean, marry her, and keep her forever_ while his father said _and keep a mistress far away from your wife_ despite the fact that he himself has never had a mistress, but the woman pressed against him is everything in one. 

 

-

 

There’s two things that Dean figures out while spending time at Colette’s apartment.  The first thing is that Colette, although adorable and endearing, is not a morning person and would happily lie in bed until the very last moment.  The second is that there isn’t a telephone in her bedroom. 

 

-

 

When Colette works she’s gone for nearly 4 days at a time, 3 times in two weeks.  He only gets to see her twice and it’s so brief that he thinks if he would have blinked he would have missed her completely.  But in the time that she’s gone he sees Ted three times, goes to his parents to fly both weekends, and takes up running in the park.  He spends the time at his apartment and hates the way that it feels to be there alone.  He’s going stir crazy and he’s counting the days until Colette gets back. 

 

-

 

“We are going to Bermuda,” she says.  They’ve only been back 5 days when she says this and he can’t help the pout that spreads over his face.  The Bermuda trip is usually a week long affair, the return flight a long way out.  He’s sitting across from her at her dinner table when she gets the call.  She says, “You should come with me.  It would be like a vacation.” 

 

“Colette,” he says then, contemplative and disappointed and a bit nervous, “I can’t keep following you all around the world.  I hate being without you but every time I get on a plane I hate that I can’t fly it.” 

 

“I’m sorry for that,” she says, sitting across from him at her small two person table.  She’s wearing a pair of black pants and a long sleeved shirt, barefoot, hair in a ponytail while he wears blue jeans and an undershirt.  They look oddly domestic for a pair who doesn’t actually live together and very comfortable together for two people who haven’t seen each other properly in two weeks.  He briefly thinks about how he’d be with her constantly if he hadn’t gotten suspended.  “It’s my fault you can’t fly.” 

 

“No, it’s my fault.  I agreed with your principles.  There wasn’t a decision to make.  I just miss the flying,” he says.  He sighs then, lifting his gaze to hers.  He realizes then that he misses the flying, yes, but he’ll miss her too when he doesn’t have to.  He adds, “But I don’t have to miss you too.” 

 

“So, you’re coming, yes?”  She asks. 

 

He stands, leaving the newspaper in a pile on the table, taking her by the hands.  He pulls her into a standing position, smiles, presses her closer. His thumbs loop into the waistband of her pants just below the small of her back.  He sways just a little, her hands coming to rest on her chest. 

 

“On one condition,” he replies. 

 

“Well, what is it?”  She presses, her eyebrows popping up on her forehead.  

 

“You have to go swimming with me at least once,” he replies. 

 

“You have a deal,” she says. 

 

-

 

He feels like he’s sweating before he’s even stepped off of the plane and onto Bermuda soil.  The saddest part out of all of this for him is that it’s almost not even weird to be in a plane but not in the cockpit.  Granted, he sits in first class this time, a few seats in front of Audrey Hepburn and Mel Ferrer.  They’re less demanding that people would expect.  Maggie, Colette and Laura switch between serving first class and coach.  He waits behind with the crew after landing because he doesn’t see a reason to bother exiting the plane. 

 

He helps Colette a little with her cleaning up.  She smiles and says, “We’ll have you trained to be the perfect househusband in no time.” 

 

When he finally steps off of the plane his shirt catches in the wind and he begins to feel a little bit cooler.  It’s a welcomed change from the slow transition into spring he’s been experiencing everywhere else he’s gone recently.  He gets off of the plane and goes to wait inside the airport while the crew does their check out stuff. 

 

-

 

“Are you sick of me yet?”  He asks once he’s completely unpacked and sitting on the edge of the mattress. 

 

She stops in her movements of unpacking her own things to look at him.  She laughs then, tossing the clothing in her hand onto the bed beside him.  She touches his cheeks and says, “Don’t be silly, Dean.  I’ve hardly even seen you.  How can I be tired of you?” 

 

“I’ve been out of work for three months,” he replies with a shrug, “I’m bored.  I’m becoming annoying.  I still have three months left.  I could become overbearing.” 

 

“Try me,” she replies with a smirk.  She lightly kisses him then and reaches for her clothes on the mattress. 

 

He grabs her forearm to keep her from going too far and he says, “I don’t want to mess this up.  You mean everything to me.” 

 

She smiles gently, lightly touches his face.  She says, “Get your bathing suit on, mon amour.  We’re going swimming.” 

 

-

 

Their plan to go swimming easily turns into a walk on the beach as they ultimately forgo swimming for the evening.  They find that it’s a little cold on the beach at night as the wind rides in on the tides.  He reaches for her, extending his hand for her to take.  When she takes it, she slides her arms around his, her fingers entwining with his amidst her search.  He thinks he feels her shiver. 

 

“Are you cold?” 

 

She shrugs then and says, “Maybe a little.” 

 

“We should have brought a blanket,” he replies.  He stops walking, shoes sinking into the sand, and pulls his arm from her grasp.  He shrugs his jacket off of his shoulders and drapes it over her shoulders.  She smiles and nods her gratitude.  He says, “Now you have to keep me warm.” 

 

“I’ll try,” she says.  She slides her arms around his and entwines their fingers together again.  She squeezes him and he looks down at her.  She says, “Thank you.” 

 

His eyebrows knit together.  “What are you thanking me for?”  He asks. 

 

“Because you’ve been so lovely and you’ve been so honest.  You’ve always been honest with me even when you think it’s going to hurt me.  I can’t thank you enough for that,” she says, smiling, “You love me without stipulation.” 

 

“I have to tell you something about Bridget,” he replies then.  Something about her saying that he’s always been honest with her makes him feel as though he has to tell her this, that he has to reveal the truths of something that isn’t even his to reveal.  Truthfully, he doesn’t want to talk about Bridget anymore but he feels like she needs to know the whole truth which includes his past.  She loosens her grasp on his arm and nods.  He sighs then; he says, “She told me that she’s a spy.  She works for the British Intelligence.” 

 

“Oh,” she says, “That comes as a surprise.  It certainly says a lot though.” 

 

“It does,” he agrees, “But when she told me, I just realized that I really couldn’t be with her.  I couldn’t live a life of dishonesty.  I wanted an honest life with you.” 

 

“Lucky for you then,” she replies, slight smile, her grasp tightening again, “You got the girl.” 

 

“Lucky me indeed,” he repeats. 

 

-

 

“Laura, can I talk to you for a minute?”  He asks her, catching her before she can sneak her way to the pool downstairs.  He has her corners by the elevators, mischievously looking behind him for his very intuitive lady. 

 

She looks at him suspiciously for a moment before she says, “Of course, Dean.  What’s going on?” 

 

“I want to buy a camera but I don’t really know the first thing about them,” he explains, “Do you have any suggestions?” 

 

He doesn’t elaborate that he only wants a camera to take pictures of the girl of his dreams. 

 

-

 

He’s seen her naked plenty of times by now, but there’s something so much more satisfying seeing her in a bathing suit, out in the sunlight, a temptress on the surface.  And he watches her, drink in each hand, sunglasses over his eyes, and soaks up the sun as envious gazes watch her from all sides.  The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, his shoes left behind by the pool. 

 

The pool is full of hotel guests including Laura and Maggie.  Kate has been busy elsewhere for the last few hours and Ted’s been sitting poolside.  From what Dean can tell, things between Ted and Laura are on pause as Ted’s misery seeps out.  He supposes that Colette might know more about that given the fact that the last few months hasn’t allowed him and Ted to chat idly. 

 

He makes his way back to the pile of chairs they’ve attempted to claim.  He blocks the sun from hitting Colette and she pouts.  She tilts her head in his direction but he can’t tell if she’s looking directly at him or not through her sunglasses. 

 

“You’re blocking my sun,” she says, mouth twitching with tease at the corners. 

 

He laughs then, “Special delivery.  The pool boy comes bearing gifts.” 

 

He extends the drink in his right hand for her and she sits upright.  She takes it from him, pulling it close to take a sip.  She asks, “And the other gift?”

 

“Greedy,” he replies. 

 

“You said gifts,” she points out, “That implies more than one.” 

 

He leans down then and kisses her lightly on the lips.  He can taste her drink on her tongue, a little too fruity for his liking but it isn’t his, and his fingers flex against his glass in his hand.  He stands upright and sits beside her on her chair.  He would sit in the one he had been sitting in before except the ones they had saved for Laura and Maggie were now one short because another group has taken over one of the chair. 

 

“The bartender concocted something.  He didn’t have a name for it,” he explains then.  She nods as she takes a much larger drink. 

 

She says, “It’s good.  Would you like to try it?” 

 

He shakes his head, “I’m okay.  I tasted it over at the bar.” 

 

Her eyebrows knit as she examines him.  She knows that he isn’t being entirely truthful but it won’t really become an issue.  He doesn’t need to try her drink and he’s just trying to be polite about it. 

 

“You should put some sunscreen on,” she suggests. 

 

He grins then and says, “There’s no point.  We’re about to get in the water.” 

 

“No, no,” she says, “I already put sunscreen on.” 

 

“We had a deal,” he reminds her.  He sets his glass down on the table and begins unbuttoning his shirt.  He sets his shirt on the chair behind her and pushes himself to his feet.  He takes her glass and sets it on the table beside his.  He tosses his sunglasses onto the chair beside her and says, “Come on.  We’re getting wet.” 

 

“Dean,” she whines.  She graces him with a pout.  She perks up then and says, “I need to work on my tan.”  

 

“What for?  I’ve already seen you,” he replies.  Her cheeks redden then.  She lightly slaps his stomach which only manages to make him laugh.  He grabs her wrist there and tugs her upward.  He begs, “Please let me show you off and make all these other men jealous.” 

 

“That’s what this is really about,” she replies.  She smirks and pushes her hands to her hips.  She lightly shakes her head.  He smiles in an attempt to sway her.  “You’re just trying to mark your territory.” 

 

“I just want you to have a good time,” he reasons.  She laughs then and takes her sunglasses off.  She squints in the sunlight, lips forming a thin line as she tries to drown her laughter out.  He grabs her hands then, moving them around for full effect.  “Come on.  The rest is just an added bonus.” 

 

“Fine,” she concedes slowly.  She follows his lead to the water and when they get to the edge, she pushes him in. 

 

-

 

“I can’t believe you pushed me into the pool so that you wouldn’t have to get in,” he says. 

 

He sighs then as he takes his sunglasses off and sets them on the table.  He has a burn that starts at his shoulders and coat his torso and back.  Moving is rough and he’s pretty sure he’s the only one feeling the pain. 

 

She smiles then and with a shrug of the shoulders says, “I got in eventually.” 

 

“Only because I dragged you in,” he replies.  He cringes at the pain of taking his shirt off and her expression pities him.  She at least does him the curtesy of not telling him _I told you so_.  “Besides, once I got you in, you seemed to have a great time.” 

 

“You should have put on sunscreen,” she sings. 

 

He laughs while rolling his eyes.  He says, “I’m going to take a shower.” 

 

“I’ll get you some water.” 

 

-

 

He stays in bed the next day and the day after he’s tanned. 

 

Colette goes out with the girls. 

 

-

 

He lightly touches her elbow as she comes out of the bathroom, and she flinches; she says, “Don’t touch me.” 

 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion at her reaction.  He stops moving as she continues about the room, his eyes following her every step.  She’s been oddly silent over the last few days of their trip and they fly out tomorrow.  He’s concerned about the drastic mood change and will do anything to make it up to her. 

 

“Colette, what’s going on?”  He finally asks. 

 

And she doesn’t look at him.  He almost feels like he isn’t even in the room as she continues to move about getting her things ready.  The day has barely begun and things are already setting their own pace at rate that he doesn’t really like.  He doesn’t even know what he’s possibly done to create this reaction from her. 

 

He hears the minutes tick away before she says, “You didn’t do anything.  It’s us.” 

 

“Okay,” he says slowly, “What is it about us that’s so…that’s making you this way?” 

 

“I think we’re moving too fast, Dean,” she replies. 

 

Her gaze snaps up to his and offers a warning.  He stands idly in the middle of the room, hands shaking as his lips purse in question.  He sighs, jaw flexing, and drops his gaze to the floor.  He swallows then and forces himself to stand upright. 

 

He says, “I love you, Colette.  I’ll do anything you ask me to do.  I’m here now because you asked me to come.” 

 

“It was a bad idea,” she says. 

 

“Colette,” he says, forcing her to look at him again.  He crosses the room slowly, eyes connected to hers, and lightly touches her elbow.  He asks, “What happened?  Everything was great yesterday and now?” 

 

She breaks then, sitting on the bed in front of him.  Her hands cover her face for a few minutes before she manages to look at him again.  He’s silent, patient, and waits for her to give him an explanation. 

 

She expels a shaky breath.  He leans down in front of her, hands on her knees, and lifts a hand to her face to preemptively wipe at the tears that will undoubtedly slide down her cheek.  She says, “I may be expecting.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“You may have put a bun in my oven,” she further explains, “And I’m not ready to give up everything that comes with us building a life together, which is exactly what will happen if I’m having your baby.” 

 

“I thought,” he starts, but he trails off.  He sighs then, standing to have a seat beside her on the bed.  The mattress sinks below him and her shoulder presses against his.  He drags a hand through his hair.  He reaches for her hand and entwines their fingers.  He adds, “I know how important this job is to you, but I’m not going anywhere.  If you feel like we need to slow down then that’s what we’ll do, but I want to be with you.  That’s all that I know.” 

 

She steadies herself.  She turns her hand over in his and grasps his thigh.  She shakes her head before she utters any words.  Finally she speaks, saying, “I don’t want to slow down, Dean.  I want to be with you.  I want to believe in our future, but I’m not ready to give up our present.” 

 

“We don’t know anything for sure yet,” he reasons with her. 

 

-

 

Their return home is offset with her immediate send off to Rome.  They don’t have much time to discuss the situation but she promises to use some sick days when she returns so they can discuss things further.  Dean is left wondering what he should do.  All he knows is that he loves her so goddamn much. 


	4. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April not only rains, it pours.

**_1964, April_ **

 

-

 

April introduces hardships and breaking points.  The Beatles hold the top 5 positions of the Top 40 singles with “Can’t Buy Me Love,” “Twist and Shout,” “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” “She Loves You,” and “Please Please Me.”  Dean almost learns the chords to half of these songs because he’s miserable without flying.  General Douglas MacArthur dies.  He begs her to go to the cinema with him to see _To Russia With Love_ , and she agrees but relentlessly dotes on Sean Connery’s physical attractiveness.  Sidney Poitier is named Best Lead Actor at the Academy Awards.  Nelson Mandela is prepared to die.  Dean sees a Ford Mustang for the first time and he’s immediately in love.  They go to the New York World’s Fair.  Tanzania is born.  They go to the 17th Annual Cannes Festival.    

 

-

 

“Colette, please,” he begs days after her announcement that they could become parents within the next few months, “We need to talk about this.” 

 

“I know,” she replies somberly.  She says, “I don’t even know where to start.” 

 

“I’ll go first,” he suggests.  She sighs then and makes her away around her kitchen, idly cleaning to keep her hands busy.  He doesn’t understand what she thinks is dirty since she’s only been back for half a day.  He’s been staying at his own apartment.  “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about this.  I don’t think we need to rush this because I’m happy with you, and up until now I thought you were happy with me.  I don’t care whatever comes our way.  I just want to be with you.” 

 

“I want to be with you, too,” she replies, finally standing still.  He crosses the room then, pressing his palms against the countertop dangerously close to her hands.  She lifts her gaze to his, fists tightening as she fights back tears.  “I’m just not ready for this, Dean.  It’s all too much.  I’m not ready for motherhood.  Are you ready to be a father?” 

 

“My parents were six years younger than I am now when they became parents,” he explains, “I don’t know what it was like for you, okay?  But the world is changing.  Am I ready to be a dad?  Probably not.  I’m going stir crazy waiting to get behind the helm and I know the risks for you.  I know that us being together implies getting married and having children which means you no longer being a Pan Am stewardess.  I know what it all means for you.  All I can promise you is that I’m going to be here and hope that means something.” 

 

“Of course it means something,” she says then, “I’m not doubting you for a second, mon amour.  I’m just terrified about what it means for me.  I haven’t given much thought to motherhood.  What do you expect me to do with this possibility before we can get confirmation?  How do I go to the doctor as an unmarried woman to find out if I’m pregnant?  I’ll look like a whore.” 

 

“Hey,” he replies forcefully, fingers finding her wrist and pulling her hand close to his chest.  Her eyes snap to his.  He can see the tears there and he doesn’t like it one bit.  He lifts his hand to her cheek and wipes at the unfallen tears.  He says softly, “You are not a whore.  I love you and I’m not going to let anyone think that of you.  I am committed to you, to this, to whatever happens with us.” 

 

She nods carefully in acknowledgement of his words.  He wraps his arm around her and pulls her into his chest as the tears finally fall.  She buries her face into his chest and his shirt becomes damp beneath her eyes.  He hates it when she cries. 

 

-

 

Against his better judgment, he lets Colette drive his car from the fruit stand to his parents’ home upstate.  Over 100 miles in the freezing cold with the top down, wind blowing through his hair because the driver is smart enough to cover her ears and her hands.  Despite approaching 50 degrees, it’s still too cold to drive so far with the top down, but Colette wants to. 

 

She’s driving a little too fast on the dirt road, but he figures if there’s ever a place she could get it out of her system it’s far away from the city.  She pulls the car to a stop, the dust swallowing the car’s tail end, and she looks at him.  She wiggles her eyebrows and he thinks of how relieved he is that she’s beginning to lighten up about the situation. 

 

“Second time meeting my parents,” he says. 

 

“At least I had warning this time,” she replies.  She shuts the car off and dangles the keys in front of his face.  He takes them then and buries them deep into his coat pocket.  She adds, “Are you doing everything you can to make me happy?  Is that why you let me drive?” 

 

“Maybe a little,” he replies with a shrug of his shoulders. 

 

She smiles and says, “I knew it.” 

 

“Besides, I have high hopes that this time when you meet my parents it will go much better than the first,” he explains. 

 

She grins then and says, “You sure have worked on that landing.” 

 

He reaches across the car then and lightly touches her smile.  His thumb brushes over her cheek as she rests her cheek against his palm.  He says, “I’ve missed seeing you smile.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” she replies, “I should have handled this better.”

 

“It’s okay.  We’re gonna get through this,” he says. 

 

-

 

He carries their bags into his parents’ house with Colette about 6 steps behind him.  He’d somehow managed to talk her into staying there for her first weekend off in he doesn’t know how long.  She usually doesn’t work on Sundays but Saturdays typically take her out of the country and leave her there until at least Monday.  On one hand he feels like it’s a waste to share her with his parents, on the other he feels like he needs to prove to his parents just how serious about this woman he is before they find out about the possibility of them becoming grandparents – especially after his father’s accusation the last time they were here. 

 

He sets their bags on the floor at the bottom of the stairs and turns to see Colette peeling her gloves off to stuff into her pockets.  His mother practically runs at them from the kitchen, arms up in the air, smile spread across her face.  Colette smiles and he absently laughs at the way her Pan Am training has incorporated itself into her everyday life.  And when his mother hugs her she willfully hugs back. 

 

Once the pleasantries have been cleared in the entryway, his mother says, “Colette, you’ll be in Dean’s bedroom and, Dean, you’ll be-“ 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mother,” he interjects, “We’ll stay together.” 

 

“Dean,” Colette says, hand finding his elbow, “If your parents aren’t comfortable with us staying in the same room then we should respect their wishes.” 

 

“It’s silly,” he replies; then, turning his attention to his mother, he says, “It’s not a problem.  Right, Mother?” 

 

“Well, Dean, I don’t know.  Your father has rules,” she says, voice unsteady. 

 

“Look, Ma, Colette has graciously agreed to spend her birthday with us when we could go anywhere in the world to celebrate,” he reminds her. 

 

“No, no,” Colette interrupts, “Really, Dean.  It isn’t an issue.  I’m happy to be here.” 

 

He sighs in defeat then letting the women win out on this one.  He supposes he could just admit that he’s grown accustomed to sharing a bed with her, that he can hardly sleep without her.  He forces a smile on his face then and grabs their bags to take them up to his old childhood bedroom. 

 

-

 

He crawls into his old twin size bed behind her, the rays of the morning sun sneaking in through the windows, his bare feet cold as they peek out beneath the hem of his jeans.  He wraps his arm around her waist and uses his fingers to push the hair out of her eyes.  With the bedroom door cracked, he sees his mother peek in with a massive grin on her face.  He lightly shakes his head and turns his attention back to the woman beneath his arm. 

 

He lightly kisses just below her ear then and says, “Wake up, sleeping beauty.” 

 

She curls further into herself and he feels like she’s molding more into him, fitting into him like a glove.  She stirs in his arms, burrowing further as she pulls the blanket further up to her chin, and he laughs.  He pushes the blanket back down as she groans. 

 

In her cute, French accent laden with sleep she says, “Leave me alone.” 

 

“I can’t let you sleep.  We’re going flying today.  Mom’s making breakfast then we’re going to the sky,” he says. 

 

“We’re always in the sky,” she replies.  She wipes at her eyes then, rubbing the sleep away. 

 

He grins and rolls onto his shoulder, nuzzling beneath her just a bit to not fall off of the bed.  In retrospect, it was probably best that they didn’t share a bed since they can barely fit.  He slips his other arm beneath her as she lifts just enough to roll over to face him.  He pushes his hand through her hair, brushing it from her eyes again. 

 

“This time, you’re taking the helm,” he says. 

 

“You already got my hopes up once with that,” she warns, “Don’t do that to me again.” 

 

“It’s your birthday present,” he tries, “I wouldn’t dare fail to deliver.” 

 

“Bringing me out here for my birthday suddenly makes a lot more sense,” she says.  She stifles a yawn then and stretches, her pajama sleeve sliding down her arm and bunching at the elbow.  His reach follows hers, grabbing her hand and pulling him more on top of him.  She says, “Don’t try to drag me out of bed, Monsieur.” 

 

“I’m not,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows, “I’m trying to get you on top of me.” 

 

“No funny stuff,” she says then. 

 

He drops her hand onto his shoulder and proceeds to innocently lift his own hands.  “I’m not being coy, just trying to get a little cuddle out of you,” he admits. 

 

“I admit, when I first saw you on that plane I had no idea The Captain was so romantic,” she says then.  Her eyes crinkle when she smiles, her lips tight yet tired at the same time. 

 

He smiles but his eyebrows furrow in confusion.  He asks, “You remember that?” 

 

“What?” 

 

“When you first saw me,” he elaborates, “You remember what you were thinking?” 

 

“Oui,” she says, fingers sliding to his neck, his hip pressed against her thigh as she gives in and slips her knee between his, “I thought you were handsome.  I liked the way you smiled.”  

 

“And now I smile because of you,” he says. 

 

She kisses him lightly then and says, “And I love it.” 

 

-

 

While in the air in the tiny crop duster, she begins to feel sick so he smoothly lands the plane and takes it back into the barn.  He climbs out first, ears cold and jacket zipped up to his chin.  He reaches to offer her a helping hand to get out of the plane, tight black pants and heels particularly offsetting his own attire.  Even outside of her formal appearance and efforts to dress up she still looks far more elegant than he does. 

 

“Are you okay?”  He asks. 

 

Her heels must sink into the ground because she’s shorter than she had been before.  She nods then, smile spreading over her face.  She says, “It’s much different than being in a commercial airplane.” 

 

“It is,” he agrees, “I was worried this would happen.” 

 

“I feel better now,” she reassures. 

 

He forces a smile, his hand grasping her wrist, her bones tiny in his hands.  He explains, “It’s a much smaller plane.  It takes a bit of getting used to.  I threw up my first few times in the air.” 

 

“Oh, Dean,” she says slowly, but he doesn’t understand her sudden scrutiny; she adds, “You could have warned me.” 

 

“The best part is the element of surprise,” he says, innocence peeking through. 

 

-

 

It’s the fact that she’s smiling as she helps his mother cook in the kitchen that makes him absolutely certain that no matter what, they’re going to make it.  In retrospect he’s never really doubted their ability to make it, since she took him back anyway, not even with the information that there’s a possibility she might be pregnant.  He knows what the right thing to do here is, that he should be running out and buying a ring to propose to her with, but he doesn’t want her to start thinking that he’s only with her because she might be having his baby. 

 

Truthfully, they haven’t discussed it much because they’re both really good at avoiding the topic, but by avoiding the topic they’ve both become quiet and distant from one another.  Aside from the time spent at his parents, they’ve been mostly uncommunicative.  It worries him that their inability to talk this out will lead them to greater troubles. 

 

But he waits anyway, waits for her to approach him with the subject because the harsh reality is that every time he tries to discuss it she just shuts down.  He wants to be with her regardless but, truthfully, he doesn’t know if she even feels the same way.  But she genuinely smiles and he thinks for a moment that it will all be okay. 

 

-

 

He follows her towards the barn, the stars in the sky shining brightly in a way that they can’t see in the city.  She hugs herself for warmth in an attempt to protect herself from the chilly night air and he delves his hands deep into his pockets.  He briefly wonders what will become of them. 

 

“I got you a present,” he says, digging further into his pocket. 

 

She stills there, catching sight of his movement and steps away from him.  She swallows in the glow of the light from the barn and says, “Dean.”  Her name on his lips sound like a warning. 

 

“It isn’t anything special,” he insists, “I picked it up yesterday morning before we came.” 

 

He pulls a bracelet out of his pocket and follows her in the direction of the barn, the light bouncing off of the diamonds crested in the metal.  She visibly relaxes, her body loosening as she expels a breath of relief.  He hates that she’s so terrified of him. 

 

“It’s beautiful,” she says when they’re fully in the barn, her eyes trained to the piece of jewelry. 

 

He shrugs absently and says, “It’s nothing compared to you.”  She sheepishly smiles as he clasps the bracelet around her wrist.  She kisses him lightly on the cheek, her lips moistened, lipstick leaving a light trace of her mouth on his skin.  He asks, “Why are you so afraid of me?” 

 

“What do you mean?”  She asks. 

 

“You’re terrified of me,” he repeats, “You close yourself off whenever I get near you.” 

 

She relents, leaning against the tractor, nodding her head.  She says, “I’m sorry.  I don’t mean to do that.  I just.”  She trails off then. 

 

He tilts his head slightly and says, “We are in a committed, loving relationship.  I’ve fallen in love with you and I want to be with you.  Did something change the way you feel about me?” 

 

“We’re not married, Dean, and it’s complicated now.  If we are having a baby you could leave me at any moment,” she starts. 

 

But he can’t let her keep going.  He says, “I wouldn’t do that.” 

 

“I know,” she says, eyes drifting closed for the briefest of moments, “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to marry me just because I am.  I want to be with you but I don’t want it to be out of obligation.” 

 

“It isn’t,” he insists, “I care about you, Colette.  I understand you don’t want to have a baby right now.  I don’t want to have one either.  But if we are having a baby then that’s okay too because it’s ours and we made it out of love.  We love each other and I think that’s what is most important.” 

 

“It is,” she agrees, “It’s the most important thing, but I’m lost.” 

 

“No,” he interjects forcefully, reaching for her, thumb pressing against her chin to force her to look into his eyes, “We are lost.  We are in this together.  If you’re lost then I’m lost with you.” 

 

“It’s more complicated than that,” she says then.  He hates that she’s separating them despite the fact that long ago she wouldn’t allow him to do that long before they’d ever been in love with one another. 

 

He sighs then, stepping closer to her, his knee somehow slipping between her thighs, and he says, “Then tell me what you want, what you’re thinking.” 

 

“I don’t want to lose you,” she replies. 

 

-

 

The long weekend rears its ugly head as he pulls his car to a stop in front of her apartment.  Sure, they’d spoken some, but at the end of the day the only conclusion that they’ve gathered is that they want to be together and that’s it.  He turns the car off, the sun setting in the distance, the air hot in the space between them. 

 

He says, “I love you, Colette.” 

 

“Do you want to come in?” 

 

-

 

They strip down to the bare minimum – not physically but metaphorically speaking.  There’s too much space between them as they sit on the couch when she mentions the projections of her future and finally voices her desires.  He hadn’t been expecting it in the least. 

 

She says, “I want children eventually.” 

 

“How many?”  He asks. 

 

“Maybe three,” she replies with a shrug. 

 

“That’s a nice, round number,” he agrees. 

 

She pushes herself to her feet and asks, “Tea?” 

 

He follows her and catches her by the hip, fingers pressing against her hip bone to keep her from entering the kitchen.  He asks, “Can you just stop moving for a second?” 

 

“I want to be married to you one day,” she admits then, looking into his eyes. 

 

He smiles softly.  “Whenever you’re ready.” 

 

“I’m not ready yet,” she says then, “I’m not ready to stop traveling the world with you.” 

 

“I’m not ready for that either,” he agrees, “I’m not even flying for another couple months.  Our journey has only just begun.” 

 

“Oui,” she says, “I miss you flying the plane.  I miss being with you.” 

 

“I’m not asking you to marry me until we know for sure how we’re handling this, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend my life with you because I do,” he says.  She leans into him then, her fingers finding the collar of his shirt.  He smiles at that, at her efforts.  He adds, “I just want you to be happy and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.” 

 

“I haven’t stopped taking my birth control medication and I’m not going to stop flying,” she says. 

 

He smiles and lightly kisses her.  He nods and says, “I wouldn’t want you to do something that makes you unhappy.  Besides, you might not even be pregnant.” 

 

-

 

She calls him a few days later from Greece to tell him that she isn’t pregnant.  She sounds relieved and guilty all tied into one.  Before actually hanging up she apologizes for her behavior over the past few weeks.  He accepts her apology and tells her that he understands. 

 

-

 

“I’m sorry, mon amour,” she says as she covers his hand with her own.  He finds himself smiling as he sets the wine bottle down on her kitchen counter and slides a glass in her direction.  She’s perched on the counter, cheese pinched between her thumb and forefinger before she pops the food into her mouth.  He doesn’t say anything, just presses a kiss to her cheek.  “I have to admit, I like coming home to you.” 

 

After her week in Greece he happily complied her request for him stay over.  He picked her up at the airport, itching to just hold her again.  Her fingers find his cheeks and she tilts his mouth towards hers, her lips descending upon them immediately.  He returns her kiss as the pads of his fingers press against the inside of her thighs to make enough room to rest against the counter between them.  Her legs immediately wrap around his torso, the heels of her feet pulling on his tailbone. 

 

“We should live together,” he says through a smile against her lips. 

 

“Dean,” she squeals incredulously, “That’s a crazy idea.” 

 

“No, it makes sense,” he reasons, “When you’re gone no one is here and when you’re here no one is at my place because we spend every moment we can together.  Besides, when I get back in the cockpit we’ll both be gone a lot and there’s no use paying on two places that are hardly being used when we could just store our things together.” 

 

“You want to live with me?”  She asks to be sure. 

 

He shrugs, his hands rubbing at her thighs as he says, “My lease is up at the end of the month.” 

 

“But your place is bigger,” she replies. 

 

He smiles then, mouth finding her jaw, and he says, “But you’re not in it.”

 

-

 

She’s only in the city for 2 days before she flies off to Rome.

 

-

 

Ted comes by while Colette is in Italy.  He puts on his jacket and takes a walk through the park with Ted.  The city looks biting in the spring and the chill is still too cold considering baseball season is upon them.  He can’t wait to drag Colette off to a game. 

 

Ted says, “Amanda lied about the baby.  She was never pregnant.” 

 

He lightly shakes his head in response and licks his lips.  “I’m sorry, Ted,” he starts, “Maybe not becoming a father right now is for the best.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ted absently agrees, “Laura and I put the prospect of us on hold.  Maybe we can finally revisit that.” 

 

“Maybe,” he replies with a light shrug, “You know, Colette thought she was pregnant.” 

 

“Oh my god.  When?”  Ted asks.

 

“A couple of weeks ago,” he admits, “I felt like I was losing her.  I couldn’t handle it.” 

 

“Are things better between the two of you?” 

 

Dean shrugs then, hands hiding in his pants pockets.  He says, “I think so.  We’re moving in together.” 

 

“What?”  Ted asks, eyes widening in surprise.  His mouth is wide open but Dean can see the smile tugging at the corners there. 

 

“My lease is up at the end of the month.  I just thought it would be more practical if we lived together since one of our apartments is always empty and once I get back in the air it will be even worse,” he explains.  They walk in silence for a minute as Ted seems to wrap his head around what Dean is telling him.  Living together without being married is practically unheard of, but the terms they are a changing.  “Besides, we will be married one day, just not right now, that way she doesn’t have to quit working for Pan Am.  What’s marriage anyway other than just a certificate signed and acknowledged by the government?” 

 

“I don’t know, Dean.  I mean, I think marriage is a pretty big deal,” Ted says. 

 

Dean nods and says, “Marriage is a commitment and we are committed to each other.” 

 

“You make a good point,” Ted replies decidedly, “Let’s get some lunch.” 

 

-

 

“Mon amour,” she says, mouth curving upwards at the corners, “Je t’aime.”

 

She touches him then, hands slipping beneath his shirt as she straddles his waist.  She kisses him then, fingertips absently tapping against his torso.  He kisses her back, his hands circling her wrists as he pulls her hands away from his skin. 

 

He laughs gently against her mouth and he says, “I love you, too, but you promised you would go with me.  Don’t try to distract me or we’ll be late.” 

 

 “What is baseball anyway?”  She asks with a sigh.  Her hands fall to her sides in defeat. 

 

“It’s America’s favorite past time,” he says, “Get your shoes on, Doll, and I’ll show you.” 

 

“I must really love you if I’m letting you drag me to one of these things,” she replies flippantly. 

 

He grins then and slides his hands around to her back to pull her closer.  He lightly presses a kiss to her lips.  He says, “You must.” 

 

-

 

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” she says.  She sounds bored as she leans back into his arm that rests along the back of her seat.  He briefly wonders if it’s the French thing that makes her so disinterested by the sport.  “Someone just throws a ball at a person with a stick?” 

 

“American women don’t find baseball this boring,” he comments.  He sees her pout in response so he curls his fingers around her arm and pulls her towards him.  He lightly kisses her cheek then, lips lingering there just long enough to miss the first bit of action in the inning.  “You’re adorable though.” 

 

“I don’t even see any other women here,” she replies. 

 

“I’m only looking at you,” he says.  He kisses the corner of her mouth and her eyes drift closed as she soaks it in.  He smiles against her lips like he can’t help it.  Her hand circles his and he turns his palm over beneath hers.  “Thank you for coming with me.” 

 

“You came at me with that cute little pout, mon amour.  How was I supposed to tell you no?”  She asks.

 

“Ah ha ha,” he laughs, “I found your weakness.” 

 

“Oh, please,” she starts, “Every time I pout, you kiss me.  Seems like you’re not the only one getting their way.” 

 

“Touché, but you don’t have to pout for me to kiss you,” he counters.  He turns his attention back to the field and finds a runner on base.  Her other hand slides over his knee and his leg jolts.  He sees her smirk out of the corner of his eye.  “You’re distracting.  Maybe I shouldn’t bring you to games anymore.” 

 

“Don’t be mean, mon amour,” she replies, “Tell me how the game is played.” 

 

He explains the basics of baseball to her and she seems to get it.  He gets her a ballpark hot dog and they share a Pepsi.  He kisses her hand a few times, her smile soft and comforting as he does, and her fingers easily slip into the hair at the back of his head.  He gets annoyed halfway through the 6th inning because the Yankees are losing. 

 

And, as his annoyance builds, she leans over and kisses his cheek.  He smirks then, unable to hide the extreme mood change as he realizes that they really don’t get to go places together very often.  He thinks that it feels good to get out with her.  He angles his body towards her. 

 

She kisses him then.  Her kiss lingers on his lips for the remainder of the game.

 

-

 

He says, “You know I love you, right?”  He grasps her hands in his then.

 

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion and she says, “Oui.  Why do you ask?” 

 

“Because we’ve been through a hell of a lot together and I was discussing things with Ted,” he says; he sighs, “And it’s you and me.  I don’t need to be married to you because I have committed to you.” 

 

“And I you,” she replies, lifting her hand to his jaw.  She tilts her head.  She blinks in slow motion.  Her eyebrows slowly furrow.  “But you were going to marry Bridget?” 

 

He swallows and says, “I didn’t feel secure in our relationship, not enough to just feel comfortable with us not verbally agreeing that we’re on the path to marriage.” 

 

“But we’ve agreed that we want to be married someday,” she reminds him. 

 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m happy with us not being married so that you can continue to work for Pan Am for as long as you’d like,” he reiterates. 

 

“Monsieur,” she says, pressing herself against him as she straddles him, “Pack up your things because you’re going to be living with me.” 

 

“Is that right?”  He asks. 

 

He lifts his hand and tucks her hair behind her ear.  She leans forward and nuzzles his neck, her breath hot on his skin.  She kisses a spot a few inches below his ear, planting a trail of kisses to his throat.  Her tongue slides over his Adam’s Apple, her lips circling the bulge in his throat, and a groan falls out of his mouth.  She laughs against his skin and the vibrations tickle along his neck.

 

Her teeth scrape his neck as she moves to position her mouth over his.  She kisses him slow and he feels every aching second.  Her fingers find the top buttons on his shirt and begin working at them.  His hands smooth down her front, grazing her breasts, touching her torso, until they settle on her hips.  Her tongue slides over the slight part in his lips and a shiver skates down his spine. 

 

She pulls away slowly, mouth still parted, a sigh falling out of her lips, and she says, “Oui.  Je t’aime, mon amour.” 

 

He smiles and says, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

 

“Je veux te épouser,” she says, “Je suis d'accord.” 

 

“How do you say that in English?” 

 

“I said, _I want to marry you_ and _I’m with you_ ,” she replies. 

 

So he says Je t’aime just to try it in his mouth.  He’s sure that he says it wrong but she giggles something he’s never heard before.  He kisses her then, mouth open, teeth clanking against hers, full force and emotion coursing through his veins.  She is a discovery he wants to hide from the masses.  They make love on the couch, hands entwined, tongues locked, after barely touching for weeks. 

 

-

 

It’s a Sunday morning when they jump feet first into the ultimate decision of what they are doing with their day.  He supposes it’s his fault for putting it off so long since she’s only had the weekend off and, if he’s honest, he couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed when she was in it all day Saturday, so they’ve come to the crossroads that he has three days to move out and nothing is packed.  He’d bought boxes after speaking with Ted, he just never put them to use. 

 

“I can’t believe you waited so long to do this,” she mutters.  She’s annoyed, he can tell that she’s annoyed, but he shrugs it off.  He commits to playing it cool at all costs.  She’s seconds away from snapping his neck and he’s almost fearful for his life.  “For someone who tells me they’re bored when I’m gone, you certainly didn’t put your free time to use.” 

 

“Okay, I admit, it was poor planning on my part,” he replies defensively, “But you were home and I didn’t want to waste my precious time with you.” 

 

“Dean,” she says, hair tied up into a bun, arms crossed in front of her chest, foot tapping, eyebrow quirked, and he’s being scrutinized into oblivion – he can feel it – “You have the rest of our lives to spend time with me.  You couldn’t have spared a moment?  We didn’t do anything at all yesterday.” 

 

“I wouldn’t call what we did yesterday nothing,” he counters.  He wiggles his eyebrows for full effect and she looks maddened.  He drives her absolutely crazy in all of the best and worst ways but at least he has the charm of a flyboy.  “Besides, you weren’t complaining then.” 

 

She relents then, jaw tightening as she narrows her gaze at him.  He finds it absolutely adorable beyond repair.  She says, “You start in here.  I’ll start on the bedroom.” 

 

-

 

It takes the whole day to pack his apartment and they are moving his things well into the evening when he’s convinced Ted to come help him move some of the furniture.  His bed, she insists, is more comfortable and larger than hers so it’s staying while hers goes.  His couch goes while hers stays.  He brings a bookcase which she gladly makes room for because they have enough books together to fill it.  Her television goes into the bedroom while his takes up residence in the living room.  She grumbles about it saying that the bedroom is no place for entertainment because the bedroom is a place for romance.  His clothes barely fit in the closet and that’s only the things he has to hang up like his suits and uniform.  Ted stays for some dinner that Colette quickly whips up.  He’s thoroughly impressed even though she really didn’t put any thought or effort into it. 

 

Before he leaves, Ted tells Dean that he better marry Colette before some shmuck can.

 

-

 

She screams profanities in French when she trips over a box in the bedroom.  He’s in the kitchen making her a half-assed attempt at breakfast before she has to leave for London.  He leaves the eggs cooking in the pan to go check on her and when he goes into the bedroom, she’s fuming. 

 

She doesn’t say anything, just tightens her jaw in frustration.  The tension between them is palpable and he begins to wonder why she’s always so fucking polite when she obviously wants to yell at him.  She expels a breath as he watches her with a careful gaze. 

 

“I’m fine,” she says, “I’ll be out in a minute.” 

 

He returns to the food on the verge of overcooked.  She comes into the kitchen a few minutes later.  Wordlessly, he dishes her out some food onto a plate and sets it in front of her.  She taught him how to make eggs over easy a month ago and he’s found some good in it, but he knows they are nothing compared to hers. 

 

“Can you get rid of some of these boxes while I’m gone?”  She asks. 

 

He smiles apologetically, “Yes, I’m sorry.  I don’t know what to do with half of it.” 

 

“We need a bigger place,” she comments, “I can’t keep tripping over your things because we’re cramped in this little apartment.” 

 

“I’ll take some of it to my parents while you’re gone,” he says. 

 

“No,” she disagrees, “No.  Move some of my things if you have to.” 

 

“After our argument about where we are hanging my picture of Yankee Stadium, I would rather just wait for you,” he replies. 

 

She sighs then.  She says, “Je suis desole.  You can put it wherever you like.  I’m happy to see how your things fit with mine.” 

 

He smiles then.  He says, “Eat up.  I’m going to get dressed so I can take you to the airport.”


	5. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May makes a hell of a disaster.

**_1964, May_ **

 

-

 

May forces Dean to reflect on things. He thinks about the months before Colette, the months with Colette, and the moments that remain unspoken. Outside of his relationship, May is relentlessly boring as his forced time off draws to a close. The Vietnam War is in full action and students march their protest in major cities.  Dean considers what this means to him as an Air Force veteran. Dean almost buys a camera, buys a Ford Mustang. Colette is gone for 12 days this month. Dean struggles to admit his deepest fear to the woman he loves. 

 

-

 

He throws his car into park a few blocks down the street from the grocery store and gets out, sunglasses covering his eyes, jean jacket gracing his shoulders, keys clanking in his hand.  The wind blows through his hair as people gather down the street. He ignores them as a camera in the window of the shop catches his eye.  He’s been meaning to buy one for a while and Laura gave him a few suggestions.

 

But, just as he’s about to get a closer look at the object a noise erupts down the street.  His curiosity gets the better of him and he follows the gathering. He takes his sunglasses off and hangs them in the front of his shirt to get a better look at what’s unfolding before him.  He squints as he sees a group of young men making their way to another group gathering in front of a large building.  He’s pushed forward by someone behind him, and next thing he knows he’s become one with the crowd.

 

There’s screaming and shouting, echoes of the words _war_ and _draft_ touching his ears.  He listens for a while before he turns and tries to continue on his task. It’s then when he turns that he’s caught off guard and comes face to face with a man in blue. The crowd disperses quickly and he’s one of the few pushed to the ground, handcuffs put on his wrists.

 

-

 

He gets a phone call but he doesn’t know who he can call. Colette is still in London or, should be anyway, on her way back which would place her in the air. Ted is co-piloting that plane. He can’t call his parents because his father would have a conniption.  He just has to wait it out. 

 

-

 

It’s a case of the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

-

 

He sits in a corner somewhere not really engaging with the other people locked behind the iron bars with him.  He taps his fingers against his thighs for a few more minutes before he looks up at the clock hanging on the wall behind the police officer. He expels a breath and pushes himself to his feet, finding the energy to cross to the door so he can get the attention of the guard. 

 

“Excuse me,” he says, a little bit louder than he’d like. The last thing he truly wants is for everyone to be looking at him.  The police officer looks at him, annoyed, jaw tightened and gaze narrowing. He asks, “Can I make my phone call now?”

 

The police officer gets up and crosses the room to the where he is and asks, “Why didn’t you make your call earlier?”

 

“I didn’t have anyone to call,” he explains. The guard doesn’t look amused. He says then, “My girlfriend is a stewardess.  She was on her way back from London when I was booked.  She’s probably worried sick.” 

 

“Wait until morning,” the officer replies.

 

“Look,” he starts, hands circling the bars, “I was an officer in the United States Air Force.  I served my time.  My girlfriend is going to be out of her mind worried if she doesn’t know where I am. She probably hasn’t had a wink of sleep in eighteen hours and the last thing I want is for her to be up all night.”

 

“One phone call,” the officer agrees, “She comes down to the station, pays your bail, you can go home.  She has an hour.  Otherwise, you’re here for the weekend and we’ll let you out Monday morning.”

 

He nods in acknowledgement.  The officer pulls out his keys and unlocks the door. Once he’s opened the door, he puts the handcuffs back around Dean’s wrists.  Dean follows the officer down a long corridor where the phone hangs on the wall.  The officer tells him that he has two minutes before he’s going back into the cell.

 

He dials her number and listens to the phone ring. It rings for so long that he thinks she’s going to answer it.  She answers it right before he can hang up. 

 

“Hello?”  She answers. She sounds out of breath.

 

“Colette,” he says into the phone, a breath of relief escaping him, “It’s me.” 

 

“Dean, where are you?”  She asks. 

 

“I’m at the police station,” he replies.

 

“What?  Are you okay?”

 

He laughs a little, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear, and he says, “It’s kind of a funny story. I’ve been arrested.”

 

“What?!”  She screeches into the phone. 

 

“If you don’t get down here with four hundred dollars within the hour then I’m stuck here for the weekend,” he says. Just then, the police officer hangs up the call and Dean tosses him a glare in response.  He doesn’t really think that was necessary. Dean says, “Thanks for the phone call,” with the roll of his eyes.

 

-

 

He stares at the clock as it ticks away the 60 minutes he has to get the hell out of the cage he’s currently locked in. It seems like there’s barely a moment to spare as a police officer calls his name.  His anxiety has been slowly but surely creeping in because the last thing he wants is to be locked in this jail cell for 72 hours.

 

“Dean Lowery,” the officer calls, “You’ve posted bail.”

 

He expels a breath of relief as the officer unlocks the cage and he exits the cage.  He gladly parts ways with his cellmates, the ones he had hardly spoken to. He hasn’t eaten in 12 hours and he’s had to pee for the last 7 hours.  He follows the office down a different hallway then where the phone is and is taken to a lobby where he first catches sight of Colette’s short hair.

 

“Dean,” she says as she notices him.

 

Her face looks strained as she looks like she’s trying not to cry.  She opens her arms to accept him, pulling him into a hug.  He wraps his arms around her waist and as he looks up, that’s when he notices Ted and Laura standing behind her.  He sighs but then he realizes he doesn’t even care as the sigh turns into one of relief. He buries his head into her shoulder as her hands slide into the hair at the nape of his neck.

 

“I was afraid you weren’t going to make it,” he admits.

 

“Sorry it took so long,” she says, “I had to track Ted down. I couldn’t find enough money to get you out without him.” 

 

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he replies.

 

She pulls back and presses her lips against his cheek. Her hands slide down the length of his spine and he thinks his knees might buckle a little bit. She smiles then, but he can see the tears gathering in her eyes. 

 

She says, “Come on, mon amour.  Let’s get you out of here.” 

 

She turns in his arms and he lets go over her, his hand falling to the small of her back as they follow Ted and Laura out of the police station.  The night air feels colder than the morning air and he feels like he wasn’t accurately prepared for the weather.  He sighs then, looking at her, feeling like he did something wrong. 

 

“You must be starving,” Ted announces.

 

“I can’t remember the last time I ate,” he replies honestly.

 

-

 

“What the hell happened today?”  Colette asks him as she closes the front door of the apartment behind them. 

 

They went to that diner that he’d taken her to months ago. He wasn’t the only one starving but he hates that he owes Ted $250 as soon as he goes up to Pan Am to relinquish his check.  Everyone had been particularly polite enough not to mention his time locked up. That is until the door becomes firmly shut behind them, cornering him alone in the apartment with her.

 

He swallows as he peels off his jacket, absently draping it over the back of the couch.  He crosses his arms in front of his chest and explains, “I’m not even entirely sure. I was going to the store to pick up some food and I heard screaming so I went to check it out. As soon as I found out it was a bunch of people protesting the draft I turned to leave and that’s when I was arrested. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I didn’t have anyone I could call so I had to sit there all day until I knew you would be home. If I hadn’t told him I used to be in the Air Force he wouldn’t have even let me call you.” 

 

“Why didn’t you call your parents?” She asks. 

 

He lightly shakes his head and says, “After how angry he was once he found out I left the Air Force, there was no way I was calling them.”

 

She relents then and crosses the room to him. He uncrosses his arms to receive her. Her hands find his face, thumbs pressing against his cheeks, fingers hooking beneath his jaw. She leans in slowly, thumbs brushing his cheekbones, lips touching his as she kisses him then. She tastes like salt as her lipstick sticks to his lips, her hands hugging his face, and he feels a tear transfer to his cheek just above her thumb. 

 

He pulls his lips from hers, forehead pressing against hers, and he asks, “Honey, why are you crying?” 

 

Her hands slide into his hair.  Her fingers pull him closer as she kisses him again. She is the embodiment of being terrified to the human core.  He loves her. He hates that he let her down by not sticking to his word.  She doesn’t let him go, lips trembling against his, hands shaking on his skin, and he wonders if she’s been concealing it since the moment that she got home.

 

He tries again, kissing her cheek where the tears have spilled, his own hands pressing against her shoulders, and he asks, “Why are you crying?” 

 

She is dainty and delicate in his hands and he hates seeing her cry.  She says then, “I didn’t know where you were.  I was worried something had happened to you.” 

 

His bottom lip juts out in response as his brain clings to her emotion, the unshed tears glazing over her eyes, the way her hands grasp onto him.  He kisses the corner of her mouth, her tears wetting his lips, and he feels the tears begin to gather at the brims of his eyes.  He slides his hands over her shoulders until they come to rest on her hips.

 

He says, “But I’m fine.  Everything’s fine.  Well, except that I owe Ted money now and I scared the hell out of you.”

 

“I don’t even know what I was thinking,” she admits then.

 

“Well,” he says, slowly grinning, “It’s good to know that you love me so much.” 

 

“Don’t ever disappear on me again,” she says.

 

He pushes the pads of his fingers of her ass to dig into the back of her thighs, lifting her with such ease that even he’s surprised. He kisses her then, her elevation placing her head above his, making him look up at her, and her arms slide around his neck, her hands sliding over his shoulders.  She’s still crying.  He thinks she’s brave, strong, to hold it in so elegantly.

 

He says, “Baby, I don’t plan on it.”

 

And she laughs then, tears splattering in every direction, the noise catching in his throat as she kisses him again like she doesn’t want to stop kissing him.  She is angry, she is scared, and she is desperate to keep him near.  So he kisses her deeper, mouth opening beneath hers and tongue snaking out to find hers.  Her legs circle his waist as he steps forward and her back accidentally slams into the wall.

 

She releases a moan into his mouth, her arms moving until her hands find the back of his neck, and he slides his lips to her jaw. Her breathing is heavy in his ear, and she whispers _Je t’aime_ into it like she so desperately needs him to hear.  He smiles then, trailing kisses to her neck then her collarbone, lips lingering on her skin. She claws, no, grasps at him with her hands as they slip down the front of him and bunch his shirt in her fists.

 

He says, “I hate seeing you cry.” 

 

“I know,” she mutters, hands sliding down his sides, “I’m sorry.  I don’t even know what I’m crying about anymore.  You’re here with me now and I’m happy about that.” 

 

“Maybe they’re happy tears,” he suggests, but he doesn’t believe it, “Maybe we just opened the flood gates and now you can’t stop crying.”

 

She laughs then.  He uses the wall behind her to help him hold her up as he slides his hands over her arms.  She kisses him then, tongue sweeping over his lips.  Her hands slip down to the space between them, knuckles absently brushing over the growing erection in his pants, and she finds his shirt tucked into the hem of his pants.  She pulls the shirt out and immediately finds the button on his pants. 

 

He reaches down and catches her hand. He says, “No, honey. Not like this. Not with you crying.”

 

“I just love you, Dean,” she replies, “Let me show you that.”

 

-

 

When he wakes up, the rays of the sun are shining bright, the clock screams 10:26am, and the bed is very warm behind him. He realizes then that her hand is tangled in his while her other arm has managed to slip beneath him at his neck. Her fingers press against his chest, accidentally tapping at his skin, and it’s then that he realizes what exactly is happening.  She leans closer then, her breasts pressing against his back, and presses a kiss to his shoulder.

 

He clears his throat and says, “I thought you were flying to Paris this morning.” 

 

“I’m playing hooky,” she replies. 

 

He laughs at the accuracy of her words. He turns around in her arms to face her, a tired smile forming on her mouth as he throws his arm over her waist and pulls her closer.  Her knee slides between his thighs and he realizes that she is still very naked from the night before. His hand slides down her thigh and he begins drawing lazy circles there.

 

“You’re playing hooky because you were afraid to leave me,” he accuses, “Now I sound like a bad influence.” 

 

She pouts then and says, “I just wanted to stay in bed all day with you.” 

 

“You can take me to the cinema,” he replies.

 

“We’ll have to leave the bed to do that,” she says.

 

-

 

Late into the afternoon, he’s buried deep inside of her, her hands on his shoulders, legs on either side of him, and she’s on top of him with every inch of her moving slowly when all he wants to do is kiss her. He reaches for her, hand circling to the back of her neck, and he pulls her down to meet him halfway as he lifts himself to kiss her.  With the distraction he reaches between them and circles her clit with his thumb until she orgasms. It’s then that she moans in his mouth, the noise somehow still managing to vibrate off of the walls.

 

It takes a few moments before she falls onto the mattress beside him, panting in a desperate effort to catch her breath. He absently sticks his thumb into his mouth and licks it before he reaches over and settles his palm on her back. He rubs circles there, absently tracing skylines he’s seen over and over again.  He thinks that she’s falling asleep until she snuggles up closer to him. He smiles then and slides his arm beneath her, positioning her so she’s half on his chest as he continues drawing shapes on her back. 

 

Her mouth finds his jaw in a loving manner, the stubble there surely pricking her perfectly moistened lips, and he wonders how he got so lucky.  And yeah, the days of past when he’d had random flings with women, even lengthy relationships, he remembers thinking then, completely satiated, that life just _doesn’t get any better than this_ but boy had he been so undeniably wrong then but now he knows that, okay, the only thing that could possibly make his life any better is when he’s reissued the helm. But he’s suddenly aware that the biggest perk in that manner of speaking is, well, the fact that he will get to travel the world with the love of his life.  At times when he thinks like this he often laughs internally with the realization that he’s living a real life trashy romance novel where the pages of the book become tattered and littered with tears. 

 

But it’s when Colette, the beautiful French elegant being who has stolen his heart, pushes her fingers along his jaw line and says, “You are growing a mighty beard,” does he become reminded that he is not, in fact, flying the plane she’s on. 

 

But he swallows the misery and forces a smile as he follows her lead scratches at his invading facial hair, asking, “Do you not like it?”

 

She shivers against him, his fingers must have brushed that one spot that just gets to her, and answers, “You’re ruggedly handsome. It’s passed that prickly stage which makes it bearable.” 

 

He kisses her then as she looks up at him, her fingers twisting his beard.  He says against her mouth, “I really like living with you.” 

 

“It’s only been two weeks, mon amour. You’ll grow tired of me soon enough,” she replies. 

 

“That’s impossible,” he replies then. As the hour draws to a close he remembers how funny she is, especially since the French aren’t supposed to have a sense of humor, and they laugh for a long time until the sun begins to set outside of their window.  He feels warmth thinking of it as their window.

 

-

 

They spend the weekend being increasingly domestic. He thinks of it as ironic to say the least because they’ve spent the better part of 4 and a half months (almost five, he reminds himself) being relatively domestic.  There’s just something different about their things being mixed together, his pants hanging in the closet beside her dresses, his four pairs of shoes packed somewhere between her assortment of heels and such, his picture of Yankee Stadium hanging over her couch in the living room, his toothbrush propped beside hers on the bathroom sink. 

 

And, okay, they are both going crazy over the fact that her mattress, the one they agreed not to use anymore, is propped up on the wall in the hallway.  And she’s still really annoyed that there’s a television in the bedroom now which he discovered reflects them having sex in it when the sun is shining and the television is off.  Maybe he did sneak a peek from around her because there is some satisfaction in seeing her from behind, but he won’t admit to that.  Semantically speaking, however, the apartment still seems crowded and they’re practically spilling out of it.  It’s this thought that has him working on a house hunt proposal that he doesn’t think is quite ready if he wants her formidable approval. 

 

Yet they have a rhythm in the small kitchen space already, one that looks like a dance and sometimes feels like a dance but is really just teamwork at its best as they tackle the tasks accordingly. The dance is not one which he could explain, and he’d be an idiot to even try, but his overzealous efforts to be helpful has prompted her to call him her househusband much more often than he could have ever prepared himself for.  He likes dancing with her though. 

 

The coffee she makes is the best in the entire world. He doesn’t think this lightly as he’s tried coffee from all the corners of the world which includes Italy and South America.  He said this to her once and she’d told him it’s because she made it with love. He’d laughed then, still laughs when he thinks about it, but also considers the probability that it couldn’t be that.  She’s always made the best coffee.  Even at 30,000 feet in the air he’s always been able to tell when she’s made the coffee long before the love part ever existed.  He, of course, never tells her this until he’s almost half a century old and she repeats her coffee is made with love only before kissing his nose. 

 

And he thinks now, just like he’ll think later, 30 years from now, celebrating their wedding anniversary, that they are disgustingly romantic and his kid self would be constantly on the brink of vomiting. He, in fact, has always considered himself a very romantic guy but he notices a distinctive difference with Colette that he hasn’t really experienced with anyone else.  He realizes throughout the course of his relationship with her that he’d been merely territorial with all of the other women. And, over the course of the weekend, he’s decided through a mostly sex driven haze that when he looks at her in certain light that she is unequivocally an angel which forces him to accidentally ask her to marry him in the most serious tone he can muster.

 

Their domesticity causes his accidental question to become silently answered but they don’t discuss it in any certain terms. In fact, it’s really nothing that they haven’t discussed before and he supposes maybe he’d just like to call her his fiancée rather than his girlfriend because the term girlfriend sounds a little immature and not quite so committed.  It’s then that he coins the term betrothed because it implies they are engaged to be engaged without the adolescence of going steady as if they are merely children. 

 

-

 

She’s back in the saddle again Tuesday morning as he sees her plane off, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he has another set of lonely days to look forward to.  He’s going to fill his time by going back home and flying the crop duster. His first mistake was honestly not telling Colette this before he’d seen her off but, in his defense, he’d only just made the decision as he’d watched her board the plane to greet the passengers. He decides to leave tomorrow so at least she will know where to reach him while she’s gone. 

 

-

 

The trip to his parents ends in disaster.

 

-

 

 

Two days in to his three day trip and he’s idly speaking to Colette on the phone.  It’s just past 9am for him and late into the afternoon for her when he hears a bloody curdling scream from just outside of the door leading out of the kitchen. He asks her if he can call her back and he hangs up the call to go see what the noise is all about.

 

Once he gets outside, he finds his father laying on the ground and his mother kneeling beside him.  She’s crying, confused and probably scared.  His father’s face is blood red. 

 

He asks, “What’s going on?”  He kneels to their level to get a better look.

 

“I found him like this,” his mother explains.

 

He pushes his fingers beneath his father’s shoulder and helps him up.  He says, “We have to get him to the hospital.” 

 

-

 

Despite his better judgment, he’s shooting a phone call to Colette in Rome nearly 11 hours later and disturbing a very cranky Maggie Ryan from her beauty sleep.  His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he’s at the payphone in the hallway, paying a pretty penny for the phone call that could only last a few minutes. Once Maggie firmly insists that it’s rude to interrupt sleep and essentially reads him his rights, she’s handing the phone over to his absent girlfriend. 

 

“Sorry it took so long to call you back,” he says by way of greeting. 

 

He hears her stretch or sit upright or something that makes the bed squeak.  She asks, “Is everything alright?” 

 

He releases a heavy hearted sigh and lightly shakes his head. He says, “Not really. I had to rush my dad to the hospital. They think he had a heart attack.”

 

“Dean,” she replies, “That’s awful. It’s a good thing you were there.”

 

“The doctor said if I hadn’t sped all the way here then he probably wouldn’t have made it,” he says.  He sighs again and leans against the wall. He says, “He almost died, Colette, and my mother has been sobbing for hours.” 

 

“And you?”  She presses, “Are you okay?” 

 

“I don’t know.  I miss you,” he admits, “I need you.  I wish I didn’t have to do this without you.” 

 

“I’ll be home tomorrow,” she reminds him, “Why don’t you take your mother back to the apartment so she can get some rest?”

 

“She doesn’t exactly know that we’re living together,” he says, pressing his forehead against the wall.  He’s leaning heavily against the wall now, for support, to keep standing.  He’s overcome with disappointment, guilt for not telling them. 

 

He hears her sigh then, tired or annoyed or a mixture of the two; she says then, “I guess you’ll have to tell her.”

 

“You’re right,” he agrees, “I just don’t want to give her a heart attack and put her in the bed next to his.” 

 

“You’re a great man, Dean,” she replies.

 

“Really?”  A smile threatens at the corners of his mouth. 

 

“Absolutely, mon amour,” she says, “I love you.”

 

He hears Maggie dramatically gag on the other end and he laughs there.  He says, “I love you, too. I’ll be counting the hours until you’re home.” 

 

-

 

Twenty-one long hours later and there’s a light knock at the door before Colette pushes the door open to the room they’ve tucked his father in.  He pushes himself to his feet and meets her in the doorway, hugging her tightly.  His mother is pretending to read a book in the corner but is mostly peering at his father over the spine of the book. She is nodding off while the two of them slip out into the hall. 

 

“Bonjour, mon amour,” she repeats once they’re in the hallway, “How are you?” 

 

“They don’t really know much,” he admits, leaning back against the wall.  He releases a sigh. She steps closer to his side, leaning towards him and lightly kissing his cheek, her hand finding the back of his neck and beginning to rub there.  She settles against the wall beside him and he thinks for a moment that maybe it’ll all be okay.  “There hasn’t been much improvement.” 

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” she replies.

 

“You’re here now,” he says, “That’s all that matters.”

 

“I’ll stay as long as you need me,” she says then.

 

He sighs and drops his hand to the linoleum of the floor. The hospital is relatively silent as visiting hours are coming to a close.  The only voices in the hallway are theirs, masked by the quiet lighting, voices soft and intimate, and when he lifts his gaze a few moments later he can see tears resting in her eyes.  He seems to make her cry too often these days. 

 

He pushes off of the wall and extends his hand to her cheek, wiping at the tears before they can even fall.  He wraps his arms around her there, pulling her into a hug that might actually be just a little too tight, and his mouth presses against her temple.  He realizes then that he’s gone too long without kissing her, without being near her to calm him. He never realized the calming effect she has on him until he’s been without her for so long. 

 

He pulls away from her to look her in the eye. He can barely make eye contact with her. He says, “I know it’s bad timing, but can you just stay until I have everything figured out?” 

 

She nods then and replies, “I can try to make arrangements.”

 

He lifts his hand to her chin and tilts her head upwards, lightly kissing her when she offers him a small smile. 

 

-

 

The hospital releases his father a week later but the doctors tell them that he’s not out of the woods yet.  It takes a lot of coaxing, but Dean convinces them to stay at the apartment for a few days.  Of course, his mother had stayed there, not that pleased to find out that Dean had moved out of his apartment without telling them, and upon arrival his father’s face starts to turn red.  His mother reminded him that, “Bill, you can’t get upset.” 

 

Dean’s lovely live-in girlfriend is the perfect hostess. She even manages to make his father laugh on occasion.  Dean explains to his parents one afternoon while Colette is at the store that the only reason they’re not getting married is so that she can keep working for Pan Am. His father stays relatively quiet on the matter, no longer having the energy to care about something quite like that.  His mother gives him a disapproving look but says nothing further. 

 

When Colette returns his parents are taking a nap and she has groceries to make dinner.  He helps her with the groceries.  That’s when he discovers what foods might be on the menu and he’s feeling a bit overwhelmed by the effort she puts into making his parents feel welcome.

 

He hugs her then, all of the food put away, catching her off guard, and he presses his hips against hers, pinning her against the counter there.  He knows that it has to be miserable for her to share an apartment that was once hers and hers alone less than 6 months ago with 3 additional people.  It was just weeks ago that he moved in.  Now, she’s sleeping on a mattress on the floor of her living room.

 

He says, “Thank you for everything you’ve done. You’ve been so patient with all of this.” 

 

“I don’t mind it, mon amour,” she replies.

 

He sighs then, pulling back to look her in the eye. He lifts a hand and brushes the hair from her face, her fingertips lingering at his ribcage.  He smiles. 

 

He asks, “And Pan Am has been understanding about it all?”

 

“Well,” she starts, her demeanor changing a bit as she looks away from him, “They’re a bit frustrated with all of the time I’ve been taking off.” 

 

“Maybe you should go back,” he says. She opens her mouth to say something but he stops her before she can.  He says, “I don’t want them to think you’ve run off or are distracted. That’s all.  Your job is important to you and I don’t want you to do anything to jeopardize it.” 

 

“I want to be here for you,” she replies.

 

“I know,” he says softly, stepping a bit closer despite the fact that there isn’t much room between them to begin with. He slides his fingers through her hair, fingertips lingering at the ends and toying with it there. He says, “I know you do and I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone for it, but you have a job and you’re good at it.  I don’t want you to risk it before you’re ready.” 

 

“You’re more important,” she says gently.

 

The corners of his lips tug upward but it doesn’t catch. Her hands push up his back before he can say anything else and she pulls him into another hug. He lets her comfort him then. He supposes the irony of it all is that is that now more than ever he wants to be close to her, but he can’t. So he reaches for her and pulls it to his shoulder, thumb slipping into her palm and pressing against the center of it, his other hand staying near her waist, and he begins to sway from side to side. 

 

She follows his lead as he steps back, leading her away from the counter, and they slowly move from side to side. He has no real rhythm, not without music and not even that great with it, but lets him rock them from side to side at a slow pace.  Her fingers dig into his shoulder and it’s then that his body reacts to her, an erection pressing against her thigh. 

 

She pulls back and quirks an eyebrow at him. He says, “I can’t help it. You’re very, very pretty.”

 

Her hand moves from his shoulder then and she lightly presses her fingers against his cheek.  She smirks for a brief moment before she leans up and presses her mouth against his. He smiles against her lips, her hand sliding into his hair.  The kiss is soft and slow, no rush and no worries, as he tries to convey all of his appreciation to her. 

 

His hands are on her hips, his hips swaying from side to side as he steps forward, pushing her against the counter again as her arms slide around the back of his neck.  He kisses her deeper, tongue sliding over her slightly parted lips, her mouth opening more beneath his lips, and she sighs there against his mouth. His hands slip to the small of her back and she laughs against his mouth in response. 

 

“What?”  He asks, smile sliding across his features at the sound of her laugh despite his confusion, “What did I do?”

 

“Nothing,” she says, forcing herself to conceal her laughter, “It’s nothing.”  He watches her slowly become somber and he becomes upset with himself. She swallows and says, “I’m going to miss you, mon amour.” 

 

“You’ll be stuck with me soon enough,” he reminds her.

 

Her hands slide down his arms until she finds his hands tucked behind her back.  She says then, “I’m always happy to be with you, mon tresor.” 

 

-

 

Colette is on a plane to Paris within a few days leaving Dean at the apartment alone with his parents.  What he quickly finds out is that his parents were on their best behavior in front of Colette and quickly resume to bickering at each other and him.  His father grumbles about the farm and who is tending to it. 

 

It’s two days of grumbling before Dean agrees to take them home.  He doesn’t really want to stay in the country with them but he knows if he doesn’t then his father will return to yard work and surely kill himself.  He tends to the abundant amount of hay, trims the grass, and takes care of a few things around the house before going up in the crop duster to fertilize the crop. 

 

-

 

It’s a little more than halfway back to the city when an ambulance passes him on the other side of the road.  He doesn’t make it back to his parents in time and neither does the ambulance.  On May 26th, 1964, Dean’s father William Lowery dies from his second heart attack just weeks apart. 

 

-

 

Colette returns from London the day before the funeral. If he were to admit anything to her, he would say that he is lost and doesn’t know what to do. It’s all too confusing for him. His mother lives too far away now and she doesn’t have anyone to take care of her.  He goes back to work in less than a month and he can’t stay nearby just to entertain the overbearing woman. 

 

Of course she gets back late and he’s only in the city because she’d told him she wants to be there for him so he drove back to get her, and to grab some clothes.  He forces a smile when she walks in the front door but she doesn’t seem to fall for it. Her bottom lip juts out as she quickly crosses the room to where he sits on the couch. 

 

“Oh, Dean,” she says, pity cloaked in sadness resting in her voice as she cradles his face in her hands and kisses his cheek. And he sighs heavy hearted then, his head in her hands as she sits on the coffee table directly in front of him. She’s still dressed in radiant blue, too bright for the occasion.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” 

 

He nods but he doesn’t say anything. He pulls away from her and her shrugs before pushing to his feet and going into the bedroom to get the rest of his things together.  He hears her following him in the same direction and he assumes she’s going to change and gather some clothes.  He feels guilty about dragging her away from work again so soon.  She kicks her shoes off into the closet and begins to take her Pan Am uniform off, his gaze silently watching her as he sits on the edge of the mattress.

 

He says, “Maybe you should stay here. You’ve already missed a lot of work.”

 

“Don’t worry about my job, Dean, it will still be there after,” she replies.  She unbuttons her shirt and drops it into the pile with her coat, the skirt quickly following. He watches as she plucks a dress from her closet and puts it on without zipping it all of the way up. It goes just past her knees, black with large patches of white on either of the sides, and he can’t help staring. She moves to him and turns her back to him asking, “Zip me?” 

 

He says, “I’ll bring you back tomorrow night,” as he stands behind her.  He zips her dress up, fingers lingering at the base of her neck, and sighs.  She turns beneath his hand and kisses his fingers before he can retract them, offering him a small smile as she reaches for his face again.

 

“No,” she says, “I’m with you.  I love you, mon amour.  I want to be with you.” 

 

“You’re not my wife,” he replies forcefully, “You don’t have to babysit me or play nice to snobby people.  They probably aren’t going to receive you well as it is.”

 

“I don’t care,” she says, “I’m not there for them, Dean. I’m there for you, and trying to convince me not to be by making me feel guilty for not marrying you right now is not very nice.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” he replies with a tired sigh, “I shouldn’t have said that.  It’s just really…” he pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts, eyes drifting closed as her thumbs sweep his cheek bones, and he thinks a hot tear falls against his skin; he says, “It’s hard.  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, what’s the right thing to do.” 

 

“I love you, Dean Lowery, and I’m not going anywhere,” she replies.  She kisses his cheek then and he expels a breath, trying to steady himself.  It takes him a moment to get his breathing on track, his hands wrapping around her wrists to keep her from going anywhere, and he drops his forehead to hers.  She says, “Let me get my things together so we can leave, mon tresor.” 

 

“Wait,” he says, tugging her back towards him.

 

He catches her lips with his own, dropping his hold on her wrists and cupping her face in his hands.  And he feels the tears fall down his cheeks again, or maybe they’re her tears. He convinces himself that they’re her tears, but he stops kissing her and sits on the bed.  She follows his movements, hands finding his shoulders and pulling him into her.

 

“Oh, mon amour, come here,” she mutters.   His head touches her torso and she runs her fingers through his hair.  He knows that truthfully he has her, that she isn’t going anywhere, but he truthfully fears a reality where he doesn’t have her.  She drops her chin to his head and says, “Tell me what you need.”

 

He slides his arms around her in response, fingers pressing against the small of her back, and he says, “I just need you.”

 

-

 

He watches them lower his father into the ground and he thinks about all of the things he’s seen his father do or heard him say in his lifetime.  His father, not particularly a mean man, didn’t leave him with much to remember him by in Dean’s adult years.  He has memories of being 9 years old and playing catch in the yard, being 13 and learning how to fly a plane, being 16 and coached on how to treat women. His father had always been fair to his mother but couldn’t become accustomed to the world’s ability to grow.  His father had never approved of his ability to play it fast and loose with women and in his final days, Dean had been surprised that his father had said nothing about him and Colette living together. 

 

But, even with all of the good memories, Dean could only think about surface things about manhood and life goals he was taught as a child.  His father will never meet his children and his children will never know their grandfather.  He’d never worried about it because his parents are young, were young, just passed the 50 milestone. 

 

And Colette stands beside him tall and unwavering, a beacon of hope, of strength, of understanding as sad and bitter distant relatives cast her judgmental glances.  She remains unbothered, together, as a Pan Am stewardess could be, would be, is, and he wants nothing more than to collapse into her if she will let him.  His knees buckle beneath him and he feels her hand slide into his, her other hand coming to the crease in his elbow.  He stands a bit taller, his breath beginning to steady. 

 

-

 

“Who is this young lady?”  Aunt Tabitha asks. 

 

His Aunt Tabitha of course asks this with disdain in her voice as if to say  _how dare he bring a girl to his father’s funeral_.  And, okay, he saw this coming, he really did, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with it and he knows that if he says nothing on the matter then it won’t put a stop to the behavior from anyone else there. 

 

Before he can comment, Colette says, “I’m Colette.” 

 

“And you are?”  His Aunt Tabitha replies. 

 

“She’s with me and if you have a problem with it, you can leave,” he interjects. 

 

Colette’s warm hand touches his arm just below where his sleeves are rolled up, the rolled part resting on his forearm.  He looks at her then and swallows.  He knows he should feel embarrassed by his outburst but he can’t bring himself to. 

 

“No,” Colette says, “Non.  It’s okay, mon amour.  Nobody needs to leave.  Just look here, you’ll be fine.” 

 

He nods, turning to angle his body towards hers.  He lifts his hand to the small of her back and leans forward to press his lips against her cheek, mouth lingering there below her eye.  Her hand comes up to his neck, thumb sliding over the vein slightly protruding, and he feels at ease.  His Aunt Tabitha squirms in her position, uncomfortable and possibly disappointed. 

 

“Tabby,” Dean’s mother suddenly calls, “Leave the boy alone.  Bill would be happy to have Colette here.  He liked her.” 

 

-

 

He pulls her away from the gathering at sun down, exhausted from being polite and pretending to smile when he doesn’t want to.  He leads her into the barn, her black dress swallowed by the shadows as he glances over at her.  It’s warm but he sheds his jacket to give to her anyway.  He’s needed to be alone with her all evening. 

 

She says, soft and sweet, “Where are we going?” 

 

All of the children were called inside as the day began to fade away.  He’d thought it was perfect opportunity to sneak away and get her alone.  He feels a sense of urgency for her companionship, like he’s locked alone his room and he needs some kind of connection – except, this isn’t his room.  The bedroom he grew up in isn’t his room anymore either. The bedroom he sleeps in at night isn’t his, it’s hers.  He doesn’t know where he belongs anymore. 

 

And with that thought, he sinks into the pile of hay and sits, knees up, elbows resting on his knees, tears threatening to fall.  She crouches down beside him, hand circling his arm, and she steadies herself on his weight.  She doesn’t say anything, just watches him as he gathers himself.  It’s only when he begins to lean back that she grabs his arms and tugs him forward again. 

 

She says, “Don’t get your suit dirty, mon amour.  I’ll get some blankets for us to sit on.  Where are they?” 

 

“They’re over there,” he replies, gesturing to a cabinet on the other side of the tractor.

 

She goes over and grabs them, quickly returning with the red flannel blanket and a dark blue one, and she helps him upright so she can lay it out beneath him. She spreads the red flannel blanket out on the stack of hay and he sits back down without hesitation. She crouches in front of him again, hand resting on his knee.  Her other hand reaches to his hairline, pushing the hair back off of his forehead. He moves his arms and reaches for her then, fingers digging into her ribs as he grasps her. 

 

“Dean,” she gently warns. 

 

“Baby, please,” he says, voice straining as his vision blurs.  “Please, I need you.” 

 

She relents, her hand falling to his shoulder as she leans into him, letting him guide her to the space beside him.  He takes the blue blanket from her and spreads it out over them.  He leans over her, his finding her neck, as he kisses her. She runs her hands through his hair, slowly dragging her finders along the back of his head to the small of his back until he seems satisfied to just be in her arms.  She holds him to her, both hands still tracing circles along his back. 

 

He drifts off to sleep, feeling the tension leave his body for the first time in days.

 

 


	6. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June takes to the skies.

**_1964, June_ **

 

-

 

June brings Dean's reluctance, coupled with guilt, in leaving his mother alone to tend to the farm. James Purefoy is born. The U.S. Senate votes on the Civil Rights Bill after a 75 day fillibuster. Spain wins the European Nations cup. Regularly scheduled steam locomotive service ends. They visit the Trevi fountain. They will remember it forever.

 

-

 

June starts with Dean smiling sadly in an attempt to convince her that he’ll be okay. They haven’t left his parent’s, no, his mother’s house, and his mother has lost the will to argue with him about being proper boys and girls. It’s too soon for Dean to get his mother to discuss what she’s going to do and he’s left waiting for her to approach him.

 

-

 

Colette wakes him on Tuesday morning, the sun barely up as the time screams just passed 7 in the morning, and he’s beyond surprised to find her awake already. She’s dressed in a flowery sundress, the skirt portion free to flow around her, and her shoes on. Her makeup is perfectly in place and he swallows the sleepy admission that he thinks she’s even prettier without the painted mask.

 

Her fingers lightly on his bare arm, she says, “Wake up, mon amour. I made crepes.”

 

“You don’t have to take care of us,” he says, voice raspy. He buries his face into the pillow, intent to draw the curtains when she leaves and stay in bed all day. What he fails to anticipate is her ripping the blankets off of him and the cold air seeping in. “Hey,” he yells, “What are you doing?”

 

“You can’t lie in bed, Monsieur,” she proclaims, “We have to go to the market and buy some food. If we’re staying here then we need to have the necessities to live.”

 

“I’m staying here,” he grumbles, squeezing his eyes shut tight, “You’re going back to work.” And she stops trying to get him out of bed. He peels his eyes open and she’s packing her bags, quiet and determined. A knot forms in his throat. He asks, “Where are you going?”

 

“I’m going home,” she replies, shaky voice masked with a strength he doesn’t believe.

He jumps out of bed then, grabbing the clothes in her hands and putting them back on hangers in the closet. “Stop,” he says, but she doesn’t, “Just stop it!  I didn’t mean to say it. I need you. My mother needs you.”

 

“You cannot push me away, Monsieur,” she warns.

 

He nods slowly, accepting her warning. He knows he wants her, he needs her, that he doesn’t want to lose her. Pretty soon, they will be in the air again, traveling the world like lovers.

 

-

 

“Look at this,” she calls from around an expertly placed section of fruits, her accent full and thick amidst the country.

 

He looks up from the tiredly scrawled list his mother gave him to see her holding the ripest apple that he’s ever seen. She tosses it towards him, poorly, and he fumbles to catch it.  She gives him a coy look, her mouth poised playfully across her face. He lifts his eyebrows, challenging her. She shrugs and rounds the boxes of fruit, closing the space between them.

 

“You know what I miss?” He muses, placing the apple back on the stack of other apples.

 

“What?” She replies, voice airy. She’s almost breathless as he reaches out and lightly touches her upper arms, hands sliding downward until his fingers can hook around her skin. She looks delicious, absolutely sinful. He chastises himself for not remembering just how amazing she is, even for a brief moment in time.

 

“Having you all to myself,” he says. A red tint touches her cheeks. He hasn’t been particularly kind to her since his father died. He loves her, but he’s worried about his mother. His mother won’t be able to take care of the farm on her own but he’s itching to go back in the air. He lifts his hand to her cheek and pushes at her hair, to her shoulders now, maybe a little longer. “It’s been so hectic that I’ve forgotten to enjoy you. I’m sorry.”

 

“Non,” she says, accent heavy, “You do not need to apologize. You are a wonderful man, mon amour.”

 

He sighs, lightly shaking his head. His head feels heavy. He looks to the ground, he knees quickly following. He hears her breath cut through the stillness of the market, all eyes turning towards him in judgment. He doesn’t care. He pushes his hands around her waist, hands circling her hips, and he leans his forehead against her stomach.

 

Her hand press against his shoulder and moves to his cheek. She moves as head back as she squats before him. He feels her forehead touch his, her fingers sliding to the back of his neck. She digs her fingers into his skin. She leans into him, her cheek scraping over his stubble as she pulls him into her.

 

Tears gather in his eyes. He says, “I love you.”

 

-

 

"Dean." His mother's voice sounds steady, forceful. He feels like a child again. She smiles softly, the corners of her mouth not quite touching her eyes as a hint of sadness stays in them. She says,

"Come to the kitchen, please. I want to speak with you."

The kitchen is her domain. She is bringing him into her battleground so he feels submissive, vulnerable, and can't refute anything she says. He doesn't have the heart to argue with her, so he nods in compliance. He shifts his gaze to Colette to his right as his mother returns to the kitchen. His lovely girlfriend offers him a small smile and releases his arm from her grasp. Reluctantly, he pushes himself to his feet and leaves her behind.

 

His mother is sitting at the kitchen table when he enters, her back straight and hands folded together. She means business and she will only accept the outcome she wants. He braces himself for her reprimand as he pulls the chair out and sits across from her at the table. She smiles tightly. He remembers when he was 8 years old and lifted the crop duster off of the ground. She was absolutely terrifying.

 

"What is it, Mother?" He feels the skin between his brows crease as he folds his hands in his lap.

 

"I've given it a lot of thought and I won't take no for an answer," she preambles, "You need to take that pretty girl back to the city. You can't keep her locked up here. You can't keep yourself locked up here."

 

"Mom," he starts, but she lifts a hand to keep him from speaking. He shuts his mouth instantly.

 

"You need to go back to the city. Spend some time with that thoughtful girlfriend of yours before you go back to work," she says, "I can take care of myself, Sweetheart. You have to live your life. Your father would have wanted that."

 

-

 

They pack up the next morning, leaving his mother for home. He still worries about her even though she insists that she can take care of herself.

 

-

 

He feels her hand slide between his chest and his torso, grasping on to him tightly. His elbow brushes just below her breasts as her steps fall in line with his. Their advancing movements take them further into a vast crowd of people. His fingers spread apart expectantly as her hand slides over the muscles of his forearm before the pads of her fingers sink into his palm.

 

"What would you like to do first, My Love?" He asks. They’ve been here before, but there was plenty left unseen.

 

He looks over at her. She takes a wide-eyed look around, taking in her surroundings. He's always loved her ability to drink in the good, and drown out the bad. She's like no one he's ever met before. She's absolutely stunning as a grin plays on her mouth while she examines an endless amount of options.

 

"We should get a map," she says, finally. He smiles at the look on her face, nodding enthusiastically in agreement. She's like a refreshing breath of fresh air, and every day with her is undoubtedly better than the last. "Quel est-il, mon tresor?"

 

"Nothing," he replies all too quickly. He understands her French a little better now, although he still doesn't understand too much. He can tell by the shape her face takes that she doesn't believe him. "You just look radiant."

 

"Oh," she mutters, blushing as her gaze turns from him, "I look dreadful. I'm practically sweating."

 

"Glistening," he corrects, "And I think you're the most beautiful woman in all of the world."

 

He gestures around them, different elements of the world encapsulated by the space around them. He looks to his left and sees elements of Asia. The world's fair really does have it all. He, for the millionth time, chastises himself for not always spending all of his time with her. He was such a fool to fall prey to Bridget when she was in front of him all along. She's too good for him, that's for sure.

 

"That was clever," she teases, "Pretty soon we will be all over the actual world together again."

 

"And my opinion isn't going to change," he says. He slips his hand behind her back and pushes his arm around her. He steps forward again, pulling her with him. She steps beside him, both hands clutching her purse. They make their way through the path, coming to a fork in the pavement. “Left or right?”

 

“Hmmmm,” she hums, glancing down both pathways. He follows her movement, noting that there are more people down the right path than the left. It’s later in the afternoon since he let her sleep so late. She had a return flight from London that didn’t allow her to get much sleep. “I say left.”

 

“Good call,” he replies. He pulls his arm into the small space between them, immediately seeking for her hand.

 

-

 

He sighs, watching his reflection in the mirror change before his eyes. His beard has really gotten out of hand, but Colette has said very little regarding his untrimmed facial hair. It’s only really been the last few months that he stopped keeping his face clean-shaven. He slaps the blades of his razor against the water in the sink, ridding the blade of the half an inch long hairs that have accumulated over the past 3 weeks.

 

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath as he nicks his cheek for the third time.

 

He only has his sideburns left trim, only just three-quarters of an inch, before he can flush the water from the sink. He tightens the skin on his face with his fingers, making a quick and precise pull. He pulls the drain and cleans his razor off. He stands upright, throwing his hands into the air and stretching his back muscles.

 

“Looking handsome, Captain,” Colette greets as she enters the bathroom.

 

“I thought you were mildly attached to the beard,” he replies.

 

He feels her hands press against his lower back and slide around his waist. Her fingers tap against his torso as she peeks around him. She’s mostly dressed in her Pan Am uniform. She has on everything except the blue coat and hat, and her shoes. He looks at her reflection as she scrunches her nose and lightly shakes her head.

 

“Not so much, mon amour,” she replies. She grins reassuringly there. Her smile warms the room. Her hands warm his skin as she slides her fingertips over his ribcage just below his right pectoral muscle. He feels her warm breath radiate against his skin as she presses her lips against his shoulder. “Do hurry, Monsieur, can’t be late on your first day back.”

 

“Yes, Dear,” he replies, covering her hand with his own. He gives her hand a tight squeeze and moves slightly. He leans his shoulder down towards the ground and turns towards her. Her lips immediately land on his cheek, like that’s what she’s wanted to do all along. He smiles in response.

 

-

 

“Captain Lowery!”

 

A voice booms through the busy footsteps of the airport, causing him to walk a little slower. Colette is a few yards ahead of him before she turns back to look at him. He smiles tightly, offering her a nod and wave for her to go ahead. He will catch up to her.

 

He scans through the crowd for the owner of the voice. There are three things that he knows about the owner of the voice: 1, male; 2, most likely recognizable; 3, doesn’t belong to Ted. It takes a moment, but a familiar man in a suit approaches him. Dean recognizes him as the New York Pan Am branch manager.

 

"You must have some friends in high places," he says, foregoing the greetings. The suited man, whose name he absolutely cannot remember for the life of him, presses a hand against his shoulder and ushers him forward. "Walk with me."

 

"Yes, Sir," Dean replies.

 

They walk step for step towards the area where the crew checks in. He hears Colette's laughter mix with another feminine laugh. His attention gets pulled in that direction, Maggie laughing with her full body as she presses a shoulder against Colette's shoulder. He hasn't asked much about the girls, but he does hope he has the same crew as before his probation.

 

"Somehow, you've managed to continue your reign on the Clipper Majestic," the man says, "Captain's seat. I don't know who you know, Captain Lowery, but you better thank your lucky stars that the powers that be happen to like you."

 

"The Clipper Majestic?" He repeats slowly. It never occurred to him that he wouldn't be the captain of the clipper majestic. He never thought for a second that he wouldn't be on the same crew as his best friend and his beloved. He never considered that he could lose all the crew he was already familiar with. How foolish of him, really.

 

"First Officer Vanderway is waiting by the sign in station to catch you up to speed," the man replies. Dean nods slowly as he backs away from the branch manager and steps out of the office. "Oh and Captain Lowery?"

 

"Yes, Sir?" He immediately replies, halting in the doorway. He shifts his gaze to the man still standing in front of his desk, hovering just a few feet above the seat of his chair.

"Welcome back," the man says with a heartfelt grin.

 

-

 

"Captain Lowery. First Officer Vanderway," Colette greets as she enters the cockpit. Dean smiles upon hearing her voice and peeks around his seat. He absently wonders who idea it was for her to slip into the cockpit. "I brought coffee."

 

"You sweet woman. I could kiss you," Ted murmurs, reaching for a cup of coffee off of the tray. Dean quickly furrows his eyebrows in response and shoots a glare at Ted who practically sinks into his seat. Ted pulls the coffee cup to his chest and cradles it. "I won't though."

 

Colette giggles softly in the back of her throat as she pokes her head further between the seats. She says, "And, Captain, your coffee just how you like it."

 

"With the-"

 

"Yes."

 

"And the-"

 

"Oui," she interjects.

 

"I could kiss you," he replies, peeking around her at Ted with a smirk. Ted quickly covers his eyes by way of not seeing anything. Sanjeev has already managed to excuse himself to the bathroom. She tilts her chin upward, angling her cheek more towards him. He presses his lips against the corner of her mouth while taking the cup. "Thank you, Miss Valois."

 

"My pleasure, Captain," she quickly replies. She gives him a wink as she pulls back to return to the cabin area. He watches her as the space between them increases. He watches her until she takes a quick left and disappears from his vantage.

 

He shifts his gaze to Ted who shrugs almost immediately. He gestures to the plane controls in a silent question which Ted answers without hesitation. He pushes himself to his feet and goes to the cabin. Colette and Kate are standing shoulder to shoulder, moving methodically while whispering closely together. Kate turns slightly and happens to see him. She quickly excuses herself.

 

It's just a few moments before Colette turns towards him. She says, "First day back, Captain."

 

"Good thing I didn't forget how to fly a plane," he replies, "Imagine how that would have gone."

 

"I could have shown you if you had any trouble," she says with a smirk.

 

-

 

"Je vous remercie, mon soleil et les étoiles," she whispers, mouth inches from his ear. Her breath is warm in the night's cool air, the whisps of her hair brushing over his exposed neck. He's distracted by the way her hand settles into the crook of his arm, doesn't quite hear her words. He looks at her with furrowed brows, more confused than anything. She says, "Thank you."

 

"For what?" He replies, equally as gentle.

 

"For dinner," she mutters. He feels her hesitate as she leans in to him, her chest pressed against his arm and her lips sinking onto his cheekbone.

 

"Anything for my girl," he says. She grins in response. Her smile warms him, like there's nothing in the world she loves more than hearing that she's his girl. He slows to a stop just inside of the glow of a street lamp. He gives her a long look, hands searching for hers. "Colette."

 

"Dean," she says, a smile gracing her lips, voice calm and comforting.

 

"Colette Valois," he hums.

 

The fountain echoes his hum, a gentle spring of hope bleeding eternal. He sighs softly, the shape of her pert lips making his mouth water, and tilts his chin upward as he looks at the stars above. He feels her fingers slide over his throat before her thumb settles on his China's draws his gaze back to hers.

 

"You're the most amazing woman I've ever met," he adds, "Your smile lights up the room. You're so supportive and selfless. I'm so lucky to have you. I want to spend my life with you."

 

He bends his knee and lowers to the ground. Her mouth drops open, hands moving to cover her mouth. He hears his name press against her fingers, her breath catching there. He expels a breath as he reaches up, hand touching her torso and sliding to her hip.

 

"Will you marry me?" He asks. Her hand drops to his. He immediately circles his hand around hers, pulling it towards his chest.

 

-

 

Her fingers thread through his. He's distracted by her grasp, shifting his gaze to their entwined hands as he blindly feels for her other hand. She lowers her torso onto his. The splendid feeling of her weight pressing against him makes him suck in a deep breath. He instinctively parts his lips in want of her kiss.

 

The back of his thighs, his knees, his calves, press into the mattress as she rocks onto her knees. Her lips part and a sigh escapes them. Her breath floods his lungs, her hands squeezing his tighter when she grinds her hips against his.

 

She falls onto the bed beside him, pulling him forward and onto his side with the movement. He pulls her hand towards his cheek, settling her fingers against his jaw. Her fingers slide over his jawline and it draws him closer, his forehead touching hers. His fingers etch over her neckline and continues to push down her side to rest on her hip.

 

Her foot slips between his calves, toes pushing the hem of his pants further up his leg. He pushes his fingers into the arch of her back, her torso sliding against his, and she presses her fingertips against the back of his neck. He tries not to linger on the fact that she'd never answered his question. It's been on the forefront of his mind. Her hands have hardly left him since he asked her, but she's never verbalized an answer.

 

"We can get married in secret," he says, barely audible.

 

"Non," she mutters softly, her lips a ghost on his, "I don't want us to be a secret, mon amour."

 

"I love you," he replies, "I want you to be happy."

 

"I am happy when you are happy," she counters, fingers gliding through the hair at the back of his head. He nods slowly, finger slipping down her thigh and tapping against her skin just below the hem of her dress. Her nose rubs against his. She says, "I would love to marry you, Dean."

 

"But?"

 

"Je suis tellement amoureux de toi," she says, "There is no but, mon tresor. I'm just not ready to give up traveling the world with you."

 

"You told me you've heard of Pan Am stewardesses getting married in secret so they don't lose their job," he explains gently, "I don't want you to lose your job, but I do want to be married to you."

 

"Mon amour," she says softly, smile toying on her lips, "Consider us engaged to one day be married."

 

"Can I buy you a ring?" He asks.

 

"Dean," she says, breathlessly. She lightly shakes her head, burying it into his neck. He feels her mouth curl upward against his skin, her hand smoothing down his arm. "I'll never get to wear it." 

 

"You can take it off for work," he replies. His fingers grasp into her thigh as her lips touch his neck. She quickly pulls back, looking at him again. Her hand wraps around his, pulling his touch further up her leg. "Please," he quietly begs, "You deserve a beautiful diamond ring."

 

She laughs gently in the back of her throat. She absently rubs the tip of her nose over the bridge of his. She says, "You're a wonderful man, mon cher. I don't deserve you."

 

"Yes you do," he quickly counters. She expels a defeated breath, lips parting. He feels her movement in his bones. She pushes his hand to the back of her thigh, her knee pushing up between his. He grins, slowly leaning forward to place a kiss on her lips. She pinches his bottom lip between her two. He says, "We'll go pick out a ring tomorrow."

 

"Do not be so hasty," she says with a smirk. She stretches her fingers as she moves them to his torso. She tugs on the front of his shirt, fingers slipping in an opening and pulling on a button. "We don't have to find a ring tomorrow."

 

"Did you have something else in mind?"

 

She drops her forehead to his. She says, "We can sleep in late. Go for brunch."

 

"Stay in bed all day," he suggests.

 

"We are in Rome," she declares, "We must do as the Romans do."

 

-

 

A soccer ball collides with his foot and he looks down at it. His gaze quickly shifts back to the middle aged boys off in the distance gesturing for him to kick it back to them. He pulls his foot back and kicks it with enough force to at least get the ball to them. Ted, Laura, Maggie and Colette are already sitting on the massive blanket circled around a picnic basket. Where the girls had acquired that, he'll never know, but they sure are resourceful.

 

He wonders how brunch urged into a group ordeal, but Colette had advised him to just remember that everyone else missed him. He pulls his aviators from his face and lowers himself to an empty section of the blanket between Colette and Ted's feet. Ted as laying on his side, his torso behind Laura as she sits elegantly with her legs beneath her and leaning back towards the first officer. Maggie is between Colette and Ted's elbow. Colette has her legs beneath her.

 

Dean settles to a comfortable position, one leg sticking out and the one closest to his girlfriend with his knee pulled towards his chest. He suddenly realizes that Kate is missing and he doesn't know where she could be. Does anyone else know?

 

"Where's Kate?" He finally asks.

 

"She had somewhere else to be," Laura supplies.

 

"I think she has a secret boyfriend," Maggie pipes up, "She's been going off on her own a lot."

 

"What do you mean, she's been going off on her own a lot?" He asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Colette's eyes widen slowly like she understands what he's insinuating. Her hand reaches over and finds his, fingers threading between his and giving his hand a firm squeeze. He looks over at her, her gaze warning, and she lightly shakes her head so small that he doesn't think anyone else sees. "I just mean, she should have a buddy. We don't want anything to happen to her."

 

With Laura and Ted mostly sharing a room now, and now that he's back Colette shares his room, Maggie and Kate each easily get a room to themselves. Kate could be off anywhere on her own, at any time without anyone knowing. If anything happened to her, no one would know. Of course, maybe no one else sees the potential danger because no one else knows what he and Colette know. They are being careless by not keeping tabs on her. Not that they have any definitive proof that she is actually in the same business that Bridget was.

 

"She's a big girl," Maggie's says, eyes narrowed on him challengingly, "She can take care of herself."

 

"We are family," Colette says, finally agreeing with him, "We should all do a better job keeping up with her."

 

"Alright," Ted agrees.

 

-

 

"Do you really think Kate has a secret boyfriend?" Dean asks as he pops the door to their hotel room open.

 

Colette smiles reassuringly but he still sees a soft roll in her eyes. He turns to the side and ushers her into the room before him, the picnic basket in her hands, and he follows her lead. He closes the door behind them, making sure to lock it. She sets the basket down on the table by the window and quickly turns to him.

 

"She might," Colette says.

 

"She's your best friend," he reminds her, "And if it's really what I think it is, she has a lot more to lose than just some guy."

 

"You weren't just some guy," she replies, taking a heart step towards him. Her hands reach for both of his, immediately pulling his hands towards her torso. He relents to her control, sitting on the edge of the bed as she saddles up between his knees. "Bridget loved you, Dean."

 

"Kate has her sister and her best friend," he counters, "Not to mention putting herself into danger."

 

"Mon amour," she says softly, hands settling on his face as she directs his gaze to hers, "You are so thoughtful and kind, but surely Kate knows what she is doing."

 

"Just try to keep an eye on her," he says, dejected by the situation.

 

"J'taime," she says, her index fingers etching over his skin on their trail to his chin. She smiles softly, leaning against the mattress between his legs, and she leans forward. He feels the warmth of her and willingly places his hands on her hips. "You do not have to worry."

 

"She's your best friend," he replies.

 

"Non," she corrects, shaking her head, "Non. You are my best friend."

 

"I'm your fiancé," he says carefully, testing it out to see her reaction. She blushes, pushing her hands around to the back of his neck. He runs his finger along her hipbone.

 

"You can be both," she says pointedly, shrugging her right shoulder as she gives him a cheeky look.

 

He grins there.

 

-

 

Her fingers slide through his and squeeze as she pulls his knuckles to her lips and plants a kiss on them one by one. He smiles naturally. Once she's kissed all of his knuckles, she pushes the sheets up and throws a leg over his thigh. She pushes a hand against his chest and forces him to roll onto his back. She straddles his waist, dropping both palms against his chest. His hands circle around her wrists as she grinds her pelvis against his.

 

"I love you," he says, shifting slightly beneath her. She's turning him on without much effort. He wants her. He always wants her, but she's definitely teasing him. "Everything reminds me of you."

 

"Trevi Fountain," she mutters softly, leaning forward as she slides down his torso. He smiles at the way that will always be a great place for him now. "Robert Redford."

 

He pushes his hands up her arms and moves them around to her back, holding her chest flush against his. He says, "Even when I have every reason not to be, you make me happy."

 

"Your Dad?" She asks.

 

"I'm happy when I'm with you. Shouldn't I be, I don't know, sadder?"

 

"Non," she replies forcefully, "You may grieve but you may be happy, mon amour. You get to decide."

 

"I missed flying," he starts, moving his hands to her hips, "But I do love being in our bed with you."

 

"Oui," she agrees.

 

He pushes his hands against her hips and guides her onto her back. He slides his hand down her thigh and pushes her knees open, moving to settle between her legs. Her thighs squeeze around his hips, feet sliding over his bare calves. Her hands settle on his shoulders, slowly moving towards his neck to draw him in.

 

His lips touch hers ever so softly, tongue flicking out against her bottom lip. She parts her lips beneath his, her fingers etching down his sides and tapping on their trail to his back. She slips her hands beneath the hem of his t-shirt, her nails dragging across his skin. He expels a breath, his muscles shaking beneath her touch.

 

He wonders how he managed to recover from such a massive mistake, how he ever managed to win back quite possibly the most beautiful woman he's ever known. He wonders how he ever got her to look at him with her kind, supportive gaze again. He doesn't know how to ever make it up to her.

 

-

 

"It has to be perfect," Dean says. Ted looks over at him, eyebrow raised and lips toying with a grin. They're walking down the street looking for the perfect jeweler. "You have to know somewhere."

 

"I know a guy, but it's really expensive," Ted replies. He looks over at Ted and the guy almost looks pained at the thought.

 

Truthfully, Dean doesn't have an extravagant amount of money after not working for 6 months. Moving in with Colette did save a substantial amount of cash, but the time spent in Paris was absolutely more than he ultimately could afford. But he did it for her. He would do anything for her.

 

"Money isn't an object," he says instinctively. Ted laughs. The man opens his mouth to say something but quickly shuts it. "Ok, I do have a budget, but it still has to be perfect."

 

"I couldn't afford this guy without my trust fund," Ted supplies.

 

Dean hesitates in his steps, sighing dejectedly before he continues walking. Ted matches his pace as they peruse the streets for nearly an hour before Dean finally spots a beautiful ring in the window of a place a little far from the apartment. He thinks he's lost, if he were being honest.

 

-

 

"Happy anniversary," he says gently. He looks over at her, a small blush creeping to her cheeks. He has a bottle of champagne in one hand and has to champagne glasses perched in his other hand.

 

"Oh, Dean," she says softly, "I left your gift at the apartment."

 

"It's fine," he reassures, "To be honest, I kind of thought you forgot."

 

"I wouldn't dare," she says, mock offense toying on her mouth. "It feels like more than just six months."

 

"We've known each other much longer," he reminds her with a smile, "I remember it like it was yesterday. You had that beautiful smile, and that intoxicating accent."

 

"You do like the French," she says.

 

"I just don't understand it," he replies.

 

She laughs softly. She says, "We will just keep practicing."

 

"This is it," he says, gesturing to the blooming flowers at the head of the garden. The sun is beginning to disappear behind the horizon. It's the perfect time of the day thanks to an early flight in the morning, which prompted an early dinner tonight. He adds, "There's a place to sit just around the corner here."

 

He clears a branch for her to walk passed him and he steps behind her. He catches back up to her, placing the hand with the glasses in it at the small of her back, and guides her to the bench. He watches her sit before he settles beside her, handing her over the glasses to pour the champagne he popped back at the apartment.

 

He sets the bottle down by his feet and takes one of the proffered glasses from her. She tilts her glass towards him and he clinks his glass against hers. She says, "To us.

 

"To us," he echoes. He takes a long sip from his glass before setting it down beside the bottle. He reaches over and pulls her glass from her dainty fingertips. He sets her glass down beside his. He says, "I want to talk about us."

 

"Oui," she says enthusiastically, "I have been giving us a lot of thought."

 

"And?" He baits.

 

"I want to spend my life with you," she says, a shy smile on her mouth.

 

"Me too," he replies, grasping both of her hands in his. He swivels from his seat and bends down onto one knee in front of her. He smiles, squeezing her hands with his. He releases one of her hands to fish the ring box from his pockets. "Colette, would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man alive?"

 

He lifts the box towards her and pops it open with both hands. Her gaze shifts from him to the ring multiple times as she seems shocked. He's asked so many times over the months that he doesn't entirely understand how she could be shocked. The smile begins to fade from his face.

 

"Are you disappointed?" He mutters.

 

"Non," she answers, "I'm happy, Dean. I want to be with you."

 

"Will you marry me?"

 

"Oui," she says, reaching across the space between them and cupping his cheeks. She leans towards him where he meets her in the middle for a kiss. He feels moisture press against his cheekbones.

 

He pulls back to look at her. He lifts a hand and sweeps at the tears on her cheeks. He furrows his eyebrows and asks, "Sweetheart?"

 

"No one else could have made me believe in love more than you," she says.

 

"Then I'm also the luckiest man," he says. He takes the gold ring with a diamond centered at the top, one 14 carat diamond, out of the box and holds it with three fingers. He lifts it in the air. "Can I?" 

 

"Yes," she answers with a small nod of confirmation.

 

He can still see the glazed over look in her eyes from her happy tears. He slides the ring onto her finger and curls his fingertips around hers. He pushes himself onto his toes to press his lips against hers.

 

-

 

One year from now they will be on the cusp of their lavish wedding ceremony where his mother will smile almost too much and her brother will show up. Ted will walk her down the aisle where he will serve as Dean's best man. Kate will almost be late but will still make it in time to be the maid of honor. Ted will ask Kate during a dance how she feels about him proposing to Laura. Kate will be more supportive than he had ever suspected she would be.

 

-

 

The ring is perfect. The gold wrapped around her finger is 18k. The diamond shape is Princess for that time she almost became a princess. The clarity of the diamond is SI1 and a 1 carat weight. The cut of the diamond is an ideal cut. She stares at it into the night. The glare from the street lamp outside of their window bounces off of the diamond and hits the walls.

 

He absently wonders if maybe she thought she would never get an engagement ring or even a husband. He presses his chest against her back and presses a kiss to her neck, his hand circling her torso and coming to a rest against her diaphragm. He feels her hand settle against his, sliding across his skin as her fingers slip between his. The ring feels unfamiliar on her finger. It will take some getting used to.

 

"Do you like it?" He asks.

 

"I love it. It is perfect," she answers, accent thicker now that she's tired. He presses a kiss against her shoulder, mouth lingering their for just a few languid moments.

 

"You're perfect," he counters. His voice is quiet like he doesn't want to disturb the settling in the apartment. They should be sleeping. They have to be up early.

 

"Non, I am far from perfect, Monseiur," she says.

 

He hums then says, "Agree to disagree," starting a form of settlement in their life together. He kisses her shoulder again and says, "You are perfect for me."

 

"What did you think when you first saw me?" She muses.

 

"I thought you were lovely. You had this beautiful laugh. You were gorgeous. The more I knew you, the more I liked you," he says. Her fingers squeeze his as she tightens his grasp around her waist. He pulls her closer, her cold feet pressing against his shins. "Sometimes I regret not meeting you first."

 

"You loved her," Colette says as though she's reminding him.

 

"I'm not so sure of that anymore. Maybe I didn't know what love truly was until I found you," he says. He softly nudges her shoulder with his chin. He adds, "Besides, you've always had a decent amount of suitors."

 

"I do not know what you're talking about," she says, feigning innocence.

 

"That day in the barn was definitely not your first time," he muses.

 

"That's a very bold accusation," she says defiantly as she rolls onto her back to give him a look. He immediately quirks an eyebrow in challenge of her. She angles her body more towards his and buries her face into his chest. He slips his right arm beneath her and folds his left arm around her. "Ok," she concedes, "But it was my last time with someone new."

 

She lifts her head, pressing her top half against his chest, and looks at him. She offers him a small, reassuring smile. She kisses him softly. The kiss lingers, her lips warm and soft. He forgets about her first time, deciding that her first time with him is far more important.

 

-

 

"Kate," Dean says, stopping her at the door before she can even exit the plane. He takes a quick look around to be sure no one else is within earshot. They landed in Barcelona nearly half an hour ago and the crew has been cleaning up for the last fifteen minutes, when the final passenger exited the plane. He absently licks his lips and says, "Can I talk to you?"

 

"Sure, Captain," she immediately says, eyebrows furrowing in question as she sets the trays down on the counter to move closer, "Is everything okay?"

 

"Fine," he insists, "I just wanted to tell you that if there's anything that you need to talk about, you can talk to me."

 

"Ok," she says slowly, like she's confused.

 

He buries his hands in his pockets and bounces from heel to toe. He wants to come right out and tell her that he knows what's going on, what she's doing. Instead, he can't because he doesn't want to put anyone in an awkward position.

 

"You're Colette's best friend," he reiterates slowly, "You're important to her so you're important to me."

 

"There is nothing to worry about," Kate replies convincingly.

 

He quirks an eyebrow in response, not quite believing her despite her best efforts. He smiles anyway, not quite the showman as his better half but still convincing. He says, "Ok, just keep what I said in mind."

 

"Is he bothering you?" Colette says from behind him. He turns on his heel to peer at her over his shoulder, a smirk planted on her lips. She closes the distance between them, pressing her hand against the muscle in his lower back. "He can be very distracting."

 

He grins in response and shifts his gaze back to Kate. Kate smiles tiredly. She says, "He's fine. Besides, he's the boss."

 

"That's what he wants you to think," Colette replies cheekily.

 

-

 

"You aren't wearing the ring," he notes. He reaches for her hand from across the table, thumb running over her knuckles. Her gaze drops down to the space where their hands meet.

 

She smiles softly, turning her hand over in his. She says, "I was afraid I would lose it, Mon Amour."

 

"Is it too big?" He asks, "We can get it resized."

 

"Non," she insists, "I cannot wear it in uniform."

 

"You're not in uniform now," he points out. He watches her carefully as her face falls, eyes half lidded, corners of her mouth turned downward. Her appearance looks off put, like the idea of having this conversation makes her want to run away. He swallows and says, "Are you having doubts?"

 

"Not about you, mon amour," she says, even more insistent than before. Her fingers thread between his, fingers folding around his hand and the pads of her fingers pressing against his skin. She looks down for a moment and scoots her chair closer. "I just worry about the word getting out."

 

"We can put the engagement on hold," he replies decidedly.

 

"I do not want to put the engagement on hold," she says with a shake of her head. He feels the toe of her heel against his shin. It lingers there as she lifts her other hand above the table and places it on his. Her fingers drag over his skin, tracing the expanse of his arm from his fingertips to the bend in his elbow where his sleeves are rolled up. "I want to marry you, Dean."

 

"Ok," he says, her fingers distracting him from thinking clearly.

 

"J'taime," she says softly, hand stilling near his elbow.

 

She lifts her head, gaze connecting with his. She smiles slowly, her fingers squeezing his muscle. He leans towards her then, her movement matching his as their lips meet between them.

 

-

 

He hears her giggle split through the noises around them. He can't see her face because her back is turned, but he knows she's having fun. The sound of her laughter is like music to his ears, a comforting noise that warms him.

 

Her foot taps against the soccer ball and he tries to move around her to kick it away from her. She's a tad bit better than he is. He grew up playing baseball whereas she grew up with the sport, although he's not sure just how much joy she had with activities as a child. She laughs harder when she moves around him, kicking the ball far enough ahead of her that if he runs fast enough, he just might beat her.

 

He takes off quickly, but she turns into him and wraps her hands around his arms. The ball gets away from them both as she pushes his arms around her waist. His fingers press into the small of her back, dipping her ever so slightly as the momentum of his movements keeps going. Her hands quickly move to his chest, sliding slowly along the front of his shirt.

 

She pushes up on her toes, closing the space between their mouths and pressing her lips against his. He sighs as their mouths meet, eyes closing expectantly. He dips her just a bit more, her hands pushing around his shoulders and meeting at the back of his neck. He feels her smile against his mouth, teeth scraping over his lip with that. He pulls back just slightly, lips hovering just above hers.

 

"Race you back to the apartment," she says, just above a whisper.

 

She takes off running, her hand somehow finding his in the midst of her movement. He watches her for a second too long as she releases his fingertips and increases the space between them. He laughs gently before taking off behind her.

 

June definitely ends better than it started.


	7. July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean holds on for dear life.

**_1964, July_ **

 

-

 

President Johnson signs the _Civil Rights Act of 1964_ to abolish segregation. The Vietnam War causalities rise in number. London completes the Post Office Tower. Vivica A. Fox is born. Dick Roth sets swimming records. Dean gets a nasty shiner. Colette thinks about their future. _The Beatles_ tour the world.

 

-

 

He feels like the sun and the moon have collided. The strung lights outside of the hotel room echoes lingering, shadows playing against the walls. Music plays outside, the sound so close yet so far. The door leading to the balcony is cracked, letting in more life from the outside.

 

The fingers of her right hand dig into his shoulder while her other hand is firmly entwined with his, the engagement ring pinched between the web of his fingers. His free hand slides between them, knuckles grazing over her torso. She pulls her knees up to his hips, a sigh escaping from her mouth as her nails leave moons in his skin.

 

His lips slide over her cheek. His fingers slip to her thigh, wrapping around it. He rests his hips against hers, digging them downward as she wraps a leg around his. He rolls his hips gently, which prompts an inhale of breath from her. Her heel digs into his leg, her legs squeezing his hips.

 

He squeezes her hand before letting go of it, sliding his fingertips over her arm. She moans softly, the music drowning the noise out as it sticks to his skin and lingers in his ears. He hears laughter from the distance, the noise swirling around them.

 

"Fais moi l'amour," she whispers in his ear, the movement of her lips ghosting against his earlobe.

 

He nips at her jaw, dangerously close to her neck. Her left hand dips into his hair at the nape of his neck, nails sliding into his hair. A shiver skates down his spine, a muffled groan falling out between his lips. He kisses her skin, lips sliding to her throat.

 

"I love you," he says. He lifts his gaze to hers. Her fingers slide from his hair and run along his jaw, pads of her fingers pressing against his skin as her thumb meets his bottom lip. He offers her a small smile as he pushes into her, slowly returning his hips to hers. "You're beautiful."

 

She tilts her head shyly but briefly, lifting her head as she moves her thumb to his chin. His lips part expectantly as her mouth touches his, her tongue slipping between his. He pushes his tongue against hers, her hands moving back to his shoulders. She rolls her hips slowly, pointedly. He thrusts at her pace, his tongue swirling against hers.

 

His stomach slides against hers. He thrusts harder, deeper, and her breathing becomes more constricted. The party outside carries on. Their movements find a rhythm as their lips part from one another for fresh air. He finds her hand again, entwining his fingers with hers. He pushes the back of her hand against the mattress beside her head, her fingers sliding up through his hair.

 

She moans, squeezing him tighter around the hips. He moves faster, more persistent, until she pulls his hair tightly and she screams out in a trail of words in a language that he doesn't even begin to understand. He feels her muscles contract around him, driving him over the edge.

 

-

 

Dean watches Colette as she laughs with her whole body, mouth wide and hand pressed to her chest. Her bug shaped sunglasses are covering her face as she peers through the lenses at Maggie and Kate. He leans against the bar top, waiting for the bartender to mix those fruity little drinks with the straws in them that she likes so much.

 

Ted is with Laura in the swimming pool, her screams only slightly louder than his laughter. Dean looks over at them, watching them with a small smile on his lips. Suddenly, he hears screams from the trio of girls and it commands his attention. He squints through his aviator sunglasses.

 

He sees Maggie clasp Colette's hand in hers and brings it closer to her face. He smirks as the bartender sets the glasses on the counter behind him. He turns around to grab the glasses, offering the bartender a nod, and returns to the three women.

 

"It seems the bag has released the cat," Colette greets.

 

He laughs in response, extending one of the drinks in his hands to her. She takes it. She takes a sip from it as she scoots over in her chair, making room for him to have a seat beside her. He sits, small of his back at her hip, and she places a hand near his hip, pushing around to his torso. Laura and Ted climb out of the swimming pool to check out all of the commotion.

 

"Laura," Maggie practically yells while extending a wildly active hand, "Look at this beauty."

 

Maggie reaches for Colette's left hand and throws it in the direction of Laura. Colette gives in to the momentum and offers her hand to Laura. Laura leans down to get a better look at the ring and immediately oohs and ahhs.

 

"It's beautiful," Laura coos, "Great job, Dean."

 

"I had a little help," Dean admits, gesturing in Ted's direction. Laura releases Colette's hand to smack Ted in the arm. Ted recoils as she chastises him for not telling her. "I'm just surprised he kept the secret."

 

"Me too," Ted mutters, pointing a thumb at Laura.

 

Dean laughs and shakes his head. Colette slides her other arm around his waist. She pushes her hands up to his chest and presses her cheek against his shoulder. He lifts his hand to cover hers, rubbing his fingertips across her skin. She slides a leg on either side of his.

 

Laura sits on the ground with a towel in her hands, beginning to dry her hair. Ted stands somewhere between Laura and him, attempting to dry in the sun. Maggie sits in front of him, beginning to ramble about the latest guy that's annoying her. Kate sits just beyond her, leaning back and getting some sun.

 

"Oh," Laura exclaims, jumping from her spot on the ground and earning herself a glare from Maggie for interrupting, "Sunscreen."

 

She points to the bag beside Kate where Kate instinctively leans over for the bottle of sunscreen and hands it to her. Laura squirts some of the sunscreen into her palm and begins applying it to Ted's shoulders. He sighs and let's her apply the sunscreen.

 

Dean takes a long chug from his drink and sets it on the ground just away from his feet. He stands while turning towards her, grabbing both of her hands in his. He smiles reassuringly as he pulls her into a standing position and leads her away from the group.

 

"Where are you taking me?" She asks.

 

"We are going swimming," he declares.

 

He takes his shirt off and tosses it towards the foot of their vacated chair. He removes his sunglasses and tosses them to Ted. He feels her eyes on him like she's getting a full look at him. He turns towards her, watching as she strips down to her bathing suit.

 

"Same time?" He asks.

 

"Oui," she replies with a nod.

 

She opens her palm to him. He slides his hand into hers and they approach the side of the pool. It's still early enough in the day that the pool is relatively empty. They jump at the same time. He releases her hand on impact, the water engulfing him.

 

He bobs to the surface and sees her wiping the hair out of her face. Her hair is slightly longer, about two inches passed her shoulders, sticking to her face. She peels her eyes open and smiles upon seeing him. She swims towards him, outstretching her hands. Her hands land on his shoulders, squeezing them in her grasp, and he slides his arms around her waist.

 

"Now everyone knows," she comments. She pushes her hands around his neck, lets her elbows rest on his shoulders.

 

"Are you ok with that?" He asks.

 

"I am happy," she says, leaning forward and resting her forehead against his, "J'taime, mon amour."

 

"I love you," he replies with a smile.

 

-

 

The girls go off to travel the streets of Nassau, leaving him and Ted to fend for themselves. Ted is his best friend, but the two of them have been undeniably wrapped up in women for the last 6 months. Dean isn't even entirely sure that they've discussed any other subject except Colette or Laura.

 

They just sit at the bar and sip on some scotch on the rocks, racking their brains for a topic of conversation. Dean supposes he could mention sports - baseball or boxing, something like that - but he hasn't ever really seen Ted as a guy much interested in sports. Ted is more interested in space launches even though he does have a fairly mean right hook. The thought makes Dean rub at his jaw, remembering that time Ted had mercilessly clocked him.

 

"I never said, but I'm sorry about your pop," Ted says, breaking the silence.

 

"Thanks," Dean says, twirling his glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl without hesitation, "He was a bit hard at times, but he was a good father."

 

"Still sounds better than mine," Ted replies. Dean looks at his friend there, but Ted fills his mouth with scotch and quickly motions at the bartender for another. Dean brushes Ted's comment off and gives the privileged man a smile.

 

"Your dad cares about you," Dean says.

 

"No he doesn't," Ted insists, "He cares about money and his business."

 

"Make a name for yourself," Dean says, turning towards Ted and offering him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Ted shrugs and returns to his broody silence. Dean finishes his own glass of scotch without any intent on a refill. He hopes the girls will be back soon so they can go to dinner. He sighs, puffing out a gulp of air. His mouth makes a puttering sound. "Those Beatles guys seem to be making some noise."

 

"I don't get the big deal with those guys," Ted says, demeanor flaring up in his annoyance, "They're just a bunch of kids ruining the sanctity of music."

 

"Colette likes them," Dean says, immediately chastising himself at bringing her up.

 

"Laura too," Ted says. They made it a whole 20 minutes without mentioning their lovely partners. They're better friends than that. Aren't they?

 

"I'm thinking of taking her to a show for her birthday," Dean says.

 

"You'll get the good lovin'," Ted muses coyly. He taps his nails against his glass before looking over at Dean. Dean raises an eyebrow, suspicious of what Ted might say. "I should probably take Laura to one."

 

-

 

"Let me get you a drink," he says, sweat collecting at his hair line.

 

He releases her from his grasp and takes a step away from her, immediately weaving through the crowd to go to the bar. He throws a glance back at her over his shoulder where he left her on the dance floor, between Kate and Maggie. She now has her hands around Kate, Kate promptly returning the gesture.

 

He returns his attention to the task at hand. He finds the bar, surprisingly empty considering the massive crowd, and gestures with two fingers to the man behind the counter while muttering 'margaritas'. The man nods his acknowledgement and begins mixing the drink together.

 

He turns around to look back at the dance floor, Colette and Kate laughing. He smiles at the shape Colette's mouth takes. Her mouth is slightly parted, perfect teeth showing, as she leans slightly against Kate. In retrospect, they've all probably had a little too much to drink, but it's their last free night in Nassau before they are grounded for a week in New York City. He doesn't particularly have much down time either. When they return home he has to go to the country and pick up his mother and turn back home so they can all celebrate the festivities.

 

He turns back around to check out the status of the margaritas. The bartender is almost done, pouring the liquid over the ice. He sets them on the counter one by one. Dean reaches for them, dropping some bills on the counter with a barely loud enough thanks. He makes his way back into the crowd, the familiar faces no longer visible.

 

When Colette and Kate do finally become visible, Dean feels his mouth twitch and his eyebrows furrow angrily. There are two men, one grabbing each by the waist and pulling the women towards them. Both Colette and Kate are being diplomatic about rejecting them, but the sleezeballs don't seem to be taking the hint. He picks up the speed of his movements while weaving through the crowd, discarding the margaritas on a nearby table.

 

He pushes at random shoulders in his path to make room for him to get through quickly. He squeezes between a couple dancing closely while mumbling a half-hearted apology. He shoots a glare at the man with his grubby paws on Dean's fiancée. Dean extends his hand to Colette. She slips her hand into his and attempts to step away from the oversized man behind her.

 

"Are you ok?" He asks.

 

"Oui," she replies. She immediately secures her arms around him. He folds her against his chest, welcoming her into his embrace. "I am perfect."

 

"Yes," he agrees absently, eyes casting over the crowd in search for Kate. He spots her a few feet away, not having quite the same luck getting away as Colette. He quickly drops a kiss to Colette's forehead. He says, "I'll be right back."

 

He moves around her and darts for Kate. The redhead notices him then, her eyes widening at the sight of him. He takes another firm step towards her. He wraps a hand around her wrist and pulls her away from the unsuspecting culprit. He pushes Kate behind him in an attempt to separate her from the man.

 

"Are you ok?" He asks, loudly.

 

"I think so," she says, very closely behind him. He feels her hand press against his shoulder blade. He turns slightly to look at her behind him.

 

"Come on," he says, turning back towards the man. He's barely facing forward before he feels knuckles collide with his face. That's sure as hell going to sting tomorrow.

 

-

 

"You have quite the handsome blemish on your face," she comments.

 

Her fingers slide over his cheek, toying with the skin just below the bruise. It stings where she touches it, and he inhales a sharp breath in response. She smiles in the corner of her mouth, slightly apologetic, and she leans away to go back into the apartment. She goes to the freezer and begins to rummage around. She returns just as quickly.

 

She has a package of frozen vegetables. She presses the bag to his cheek, again causing a hiss to erupt from his lips. She lightly shakes her head. She says, "Your beautiful face is damaged."

 

"Honorably," he adds.

 

She settles onto his lap, crossing one knee over the other, and drapes her other arm around his shoulders. Her fingers press against his collarbone, absently tapping there. A song courses through his veins as she begins to hum. He sighs, wrapping his arms around her waist and entwining his hands together at her hip.

 

Their view of the sky from the balcony of their apartment isn't as clear as the view from Ted's apartment. Their balcony isn't as big either. He isn't even entirely sure that's good enough for them. She deserves a better view.

 

"Babe," he says slowly, looking up at her.

 

He releases the grasp on his hand and lifts his right hand to her hair trying to wrap around her face. He pushes it back, tucking it behind her ear. A firework bursts into the sky far off into the city. She slowly turns her questioning gaze to him.

 

He says, "I think we should find a bigger place."

 

"Dean," she quickly hums, "We can't."

 

"We can't sleep on a mattress on the floor of our living room every time my mother comes to visit," he reasons, "I want her to come live with us, and for that to happen, we need a bigger place."

 

"Mon amour," she mutters. He can feel her straightening to protest.

 

"She can't take care of the farm by herself," he replies, "She either needs me there or we have to convince her to come live with us here."

 

"Chéri, we are hardly ever home," she says. She removes the bag of frozen vegetables from his face and sets it on the table beside their chair. She pushes her fingers through his hair, tilting her head as she offers him a smile. "You cannot put this responsibility on your shoulders."

 

He sighs, annoyed, dejected. She's partially right. He still thinks that it's his responsibility to take care of his mother. He feels like every time he's home that he needs to go and take care of the farm, take care of her. He wants to be a good son, and he feels bad because he's asking Colette to do something that she herself will never get to do. She doesn't have a family of her own, but he wants her to have one. He wants it to be him and his mother.

 

She must detect his annoyance because she leans forward and lightly presses her lips against his cheek just below the bruise. His annoyance wanes, but still lingers. He thinks he sees tears gather in her eyes. He trickles his fingers along her rib cage until she giggles. Her laughter warms him even more, enough to forget his annoyance with her.

 

He stops tickling her and lifts a hand to brush his knuckles over her cheek. She smirks there, leaning closer to him and pressing her forehead against his. She kisses his cheek softly before sliding across his lap and leaning back against his chest.

 

-

 

"Mother," Dean says the morning they are supposed to head back to the farm, "Colette and I would like to talk to you."

 

His mother is in the living room, sitting on the couch and sipping on some tea. The mattress they've been sleeping on is leaning against the wall in the hallway, completely obstructing the space to get down it. His mother nods slowly as she brings the cup down from her lips.

 

"Of course," she finally replies.

 

He gestures ahead for Colette to sneak by first. His fiancée, which his mother is genuinely thrilled about when she learned the news just 3 days ago, takes a seat beside his mother. Colette smiles at him as he slides in between her knees and the coffee table. He takes a rather gentle seat on the coffee table, left knee slipping between Colette's and right know slipping between her other knee and his mother's knee.

 

"Dean and I have discussed it," Colette starts. She looks over at him, his head slowly nodding. He reaches out and lightly touches her knee, offering her a small smile. "And we would like you to come live with us."

 

"Oh," his mother says slowly.

 

"No, Mom," Dean quickly interjects, "Living here is only temporary. We will look for another apartment with plenty of room for all of us."

 

"The farm," she says, "The crop duster."

 

"I don't have time to help take care of the farm," he replies, "And we want you here. We don't like you being in that house alone."

 

"I can take care of myself," his mother says.

 

"Misses Lowery," Colette says, "Please, we would be so happy for you to be with us."

He can't help himself when he squeezes Colette's knee in a silent thanks for being so supportive.

 

-

 

"Repeat after me," she says. He nods slowly, her hands wrapping around his forearms and sliding up to his wrists. She smiles, her foot sliding over his ankle. "Je suis Dean."

 

"Je suis Dean," he repeats with a swallow. He can tell the diction is off by the way that she giggles. He furrows his eyebrows, narrowing his gaze at her. "What? What did I say?"

 

She smirks, a devilish look in her eyes. She shakes her head gently. The curve of her foot settles around his leg, her heel pressing against his shin. They are at his parents' farm now, the sun set nearly an hour ago. His mother is in the living room, reading, and they've been out on the back porch sipping on some iced tea.

 

"Say this," she says, leaning more into him, "Je suis amoureux de toi."

 

"Can you say it slower?" He mutters.

 

He reaches for her, hands securing around her hips and pulling her towards him. Her knees lightly hit his as she turns her front away from him and he pulls her onto his lap. He slides his arms around her waist as she settles there, angling her body towards his and resting her shoulder against his chest.

 

She drops her forehead against his temple, pushing her fingers against the muscles in his arms. She pulls her knees up, heels of her feet pushing against the arm of the chair. She smiles, a breath escaping her. He leans back in his chair and kicks his feet up in her now vacated one.

 

"Je suis amoureux de toi," she says, slower and quieter.

 

"Je suis amoureux de toi," he repeats her but he knows it sounds wrong. She smiles, lightly shaking her head against his temple. She hooks her thumb into the crevice of his elbow. "What?" A laugh catches in his throat.

 

"Say: Je veux faire l'amour avec vous," she whispers.

 

He can feel her lips against his cheek, her breath shallow as it presses against his skin. Her fingers smooth over his arm on their trail to his hand, immediately seeking his fingers. He squeezes her fingers in return as he presses his lips against her jaw.

 

"What did you say?" He asks.

 

She shakes her head softly. She says, "Repeat after me and I'll tell you."

 

He sighs, feigning annoyance. He says, "Say it again."

 

"Je veux faire l'amour avec vous," she whispers.

 

"Je veux faire l'amour avec vous," he repeats.

 

"Close."

 

"What did I say?" He asks.

 

She leans in close to his ear, her lips brushing over his earlobe. She presses her lips just behind his ear in a lingering kiss, the warmth of her breath still cooler than the night air. He expels a shaky breath, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

 

"You said that you want to make love to me," she mutters.

 

He nods slowly in agreement, dipping his head into her neck. He presses a kiss there. He slips his free hand over her torso, pads of his fingers sticking to her slightly exposed skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pants. She inhales sharply.

 

"J'taime," he whispers.

 

She smiles, turning slightly to press her lips against the corner of his mouth. She relaxes even more against him as she rests her head against the crook in his neck. She feels so small in his arms. Her bare feet flatten against his thigh and slide down to his knee. Her toes curl around his kneecap.

 

She says, "I like when you say that one."

 

-

 

Dean has been gently pressuring his mother to give them a direct answer about the living situation. The reality is that she cannot take care of the farm by herself. She doesn't really know how any of the equipment works. And he just doesn't have the time to devote to take care of it. Not even on his days off. The week off of work doesn't even offer enough time to get the tasks that need to be done actually completed.

 

Of course, Colette has been as helpful as she can be, and she certainly does have an affinity for the countryside. She looks mesmerized every time the sun sets, but that isn't really anything new. He admires the way she appreciates life. It gives him inspiration to appreciate life more.

 

He has even considered pushing the issue of them moving to the farm with his mother since Colette seems to enjoy being there so much. He really doesn't want to devote his life to a farm. Not when he can fly planes in the sky and lock himself in hotel rooms with the love of his life.

 

With his hand on the door from the back porch to the kitchen, he hesitates. He can hear muffled speaking, Colette's thick accent standing out. He listens for a few moments, head tilted and sweat hugging his hairline.

 

"Misses Lowery," Colette says, "I insist that you come live with us in the city. Dean and I both feel very strongly about this. I've never really had a family of my own. It means so much to me that you've opened your home and been so inviting."

 

"You two don't need me getting in the middle," his mother says.

 

"Non," Colette states very deliberately, "We want you to be with us. We would love it."

 

"Ok," his mother says. He feels a small smile spread across his mouth.

 

"It's settled then," Colette says, knuckles tapping against the table with finality, "We will begin looking for a larger apartment."

 

-

 

"Bonjour, mon amour," she greets, coming down the hallway from the bathroom. Her feet are bare. She's latching her earrings into her ears when she smiles at him, soft and warm despite the small rush they're in. "I'm almost ready."

 

He nods in acknowledgement, taking a final bite out of his cereal bowl. He swallows the food and pours the bowl of milk down the drain. He rinses the dish quickly and moves around her in the kitchen. He presses a chaste kiss to her cheek as she rummages through the cabinet for something to munch on.

 

"Are you all packed?" He asks, pressing his tie to his torso and heading back to the bedroom.

 

"Oui," she answers quickly, shutting the cabinet with a thud.

 

"Four days in France," he calls over his shoulder. He gathers her bags by the handles and carries them to the front door, setting them beside his bags. He's almost dressed, just needs to get his jacket and cap. "I was thinking...maybe we can try to talk to your brother again."

 

"No," she answers all too quickly. His eyebrows immediately furrow in concern. She isn't even eating anything, just sipping on a glass of water. "Perhaps he does not want to see me."

 

"Maybe he does," Dean reasons, "Maybe he just doesn't know how to contact you."

 

"Leave it alone," she says decidedly, "He does not want to see me."

 

Dean sighs. He says, "I'll grab the bags."

 

-

 

"Thanks for coming with me," Dean says to Ted.

 

They are blindly searching some film studio in France for Colette's brother. Neither of them really speak any substantial French, despite Colette's efforts at teaching him a few basic phrases. Every time she speaks French around him, he just gets so mesmerized by the semantics of it all. It always leads to something else.

 

"Yeah," Ted replies with a thoughtless shrug. He really looks deep into thought like he's contemplating something. Dean is slightly concerned for his friend, bits the inside of his cheek, but doesn't comment on the matter. Ted forces a smile onto his features. He says, "Of course."

 

"Colette just didn't get a fair chance with her brother," Dean replies, "She's seemed a little, I don't know, sad about not having a family of her own."

 

"Family can be more of a hassle than a blessing," Ted says with a shrug. Dean considers that maybe Ted is back to having trouble with his father. He should probably delve into that further.

 

"Maybe," Dean absently agrees with a nod.

 

He pushes a large warehouse style door open and slips through the opening. A man at the entrance pointed to the building when Dean muttered Colette's brother's name. They push their way into the movement of a production team.

 

"Are we in the right place?" Ted mumbles, eyes wide as people don't even seem to acknowledge them.

 

"I'll check," Dean replies. He steps into the way of someone to get their attention. They look at him wild eyed, but he at least has their attention. He half waves, swallowing his words at the realization they probably wouldn't even understand him. "Conrad Rouzet?"

 

The person points behind them towards the corner. He says, "Il est là-bas."

 

Dean nods but shrugs. He doesn't quite know what the person says but he follows the direction that the guy is pointing. He offers the man a small smile. He says, "Merci."

 

They side step the man and head towards a guy that Dean just might recognize. As they get closer, the man becomes clearer. He'd only seen him from a distance before, but he's certain this gentleman is the right guy. He steps up to the guy and taps him on the shoulder.

 

Conrad turns quickly and sharpens his gaze at Dean. Dean swallows and shifts in his stance, Ted just a few feet away from him. Dean extends a hand to Conrad, but Conrad looks more confused than anything.

 

"My name is Dean Lowery," he starts, releasing a shaky breath, "I'm your sister's fiancée and I think you're really missing out on a lot not getting to know her. She's a stewardess for Pan Am and I think you should contact her. Her name is Colette Valois. Please just think about it."

 

Conrad nods slowly, but takes a step back. He maintains eye contact with Dean when he repeats, "Pan Am," in an accent much thicker than Colette's. Dean sighs in defeat as Conrad disappears.

 

"Do you think he understood any of that?" Ted asks.

 

"I don't have a clue," Dean replies. He looks at Ted and laughs gently. Ted smirks in response.

 

"She'll kill you if she finds out."

 

-

 

Her warm hand slides through his hair, rousing his eyes open. He blinks a few times to get a clear view of the vision before him. He smiles as his brain registers her face.

 

"Bonjour, mon amour," she whispers, matching his smile, "Were you tired?"

 

"You wear me out," he replies, circling her wrist with his fingers. He pulls her closer, her palm pressing against his chest. She shakes her head and lowers her lips to his. He says, "You were gone for a very long time."

 

"We went to lunch," she replies with a small laugh, "Didn't you eat?"

 

"No," he says. He rolls over onto his stomach, his impromptu nap lingering much longer than he anticipated. He reaches for a pillow from the head of the bed and pulls it beneath his chest. "I'll eat at dinner."

 

"You'd be lost without me," she teases.

 

"True," he agrees.

 

He feels her hands push against his back, fingertips sliding over the material of his shirt. The smooth shapes she draws on his skin makes the hairs on his arms stand on ends. Her hand stops at thee base of his spine and presses against him.

 

He feels her breasts press against his back, her lips touch the back of his neck between the neckline of his shirt and his hair. Her hands slide to his sides and push up his rib cage. He inhales a deep breath, her hands pushing around to his stomach.

 

"Je veux faire l'amour avec vous," she whispers into his neck.

 

He smirks, not quite understanding what she said word for word but still understanding the meaning. He feels her fingers push down to his waistband in the space between him and the bed. Her fingers pop the button of his pants open. Her hand slips into his pants and wraps around the length of him.

 

He groans when she strokes him, his hips shifting as he turns more towards her to give her better access. Her lips slide over his neck and she presses a kiss just below his ear. Her teeth nip at his earlobe, the movement causing another groan to tumble out of him.

 

"You're incredible," he says, turning onto his back so he can see her more clearly.

 

He reaches over and pulls her to straddle him. Her knees press on either side of him as her hand strokes him again. He pushes his hands to her thighs and slides them up beneath the hem of her skirt. His fingers tap their way to her center, fingers peeling at her panties and sliding them down her legs.

 

He pushes his fingers back to her center, index finger dipping into her to feel her wetness. He wraps his hand around the back of her thigh and tugs her towards him. She lowers herself onto him so slowly that the breath constricts in his throat. She leans down and presses her lips against his, her tongue sweeping over his lips.

 

She begins to move against him, her hips rolling as she jolts him into a thrust. His fingers dig into her thighs, and he kisses her deeper. He presses his tongue against hers, twisting and turning his tongue against hers. His hands search for hers. Her fingers slip between his and she squeezes his hand tight.

 

He pushes against her hands and guides her onto her back, him settling between her thighs. He sighs and pulls his mouth away from hers, sliding his nose over hers until he drops a kiss onto the tip of her nose. She laughs into the back of her throat, her legs wrapping around him.

 

"J'taime. S'il vous plaît, ne jamais cesser," she mutters. She peels her right hand from his left hand and quickly presses her fingers against his cheek. She kisses him again. She moans into his mouth as his erection plunges into her.

 

He slides his hand down the space between them and digs his index finger into her clit. He makes circles there, hips thrusting into hers. She moans his name, a vibration echoing against his tongue, and she pulls away. Her fingers tighten in his hair, their breath entwined between their parted lips.

 

Their movements compliment one another as his index finger pushes harder against her bundle of nerves until she screams out. It sounds like music to his ears, her sounds an encouragement to keep going. She absently tugs on his hair, tilting her head backwards as she presses her torso into his and changes his angle against her. His pants fall further down his hips with every movement.

 

"Oh mon dieu, Dean, je vais venir," she says, "Plus fort, mon amour."

 

Her legs tighten around him, encouraging him to go deeper with his movements, and his hips slam so hard against hers that the slapping sound from their skin becomes the loudest thing in the room. He squeezes her left hand, her ring pinching the web between his fingers. Her hand trails to the back of his neck, palm flattening against his skin.

 

"Oh, Jesus," he finally groans, and he sucks in a deep breath, "I'm gonna-"

 

He feels the muscles from her inner walls spasm around the length of him, causing his sentence to remain unfinished as a whine falls out between his lips. She moans, her fingers tightening around the back of his neck as her parted lips collide with his. He swallows her scream this time, his body racking with a powerful orgasm. He stops breathing for a moment, his tongue barely touching hers, and he sees stars.

 

He pants, his whole body gasping for air, and she loosens the grasp her legs have on his waist. He releases her hand as he rolls off of her, pushing her thigh of one leg while pulling her other leg with him. He slips his knee between hers, both of them still seeking to capture their breaths. He lifts a hand and slides it down her arm.

 

"I love you," he says.

 

"Please never stop," she replies, voice barely audible and accent thick.

 

"I won't," he reassures, "You are the best thing to ever happen to me."

 

"Voilà comment je me sens," she says with a thoughtful nod.

 

-

 

Her hand wraps around his upper arm, grasping it tightly as they approach the airport. He has his briefcase in the small space between them as he clutches the handles to their bags in his other hand. She has her customary Pan Am carry on in her other hand.

 

The closer they get to the airport entrance, the more her hand slides down his arm. Her hand wraps around his wrist and squeezes as they reach the doors leading to the airport. She lets go of him and reaches for the door, opening it to let him go through. He nods, feeling guilty that he can't be polite enough since his hands are full.

 

He enters and slows to a stop just below the area that they check their bags. He sets the bags down in the small space between them. He sighs, offering her a small smile.

 

"I'll see you on board," he says.

 

"Colette!" A man yells a few feet away, "Colette!"

 

The man sounds closer. He lifts his gaze in search of the offending voice. Dean is surprised to see a face that he recognizes. Conrad found her somehow. He stills, bracing himself for her reaction.

 

"Conrad?" She says as he stops before her. Conrad leans over slightly, seemingly grasping for breath. She says, "Que faites-vous ici?"

 

"Ce monsieur est venu me voir. Il a dit que vous êtes une hôtesse de Pan Am," Conrad replies.

 

"Ceci est ma fiancée Dean," she clarifies, "Il est venu vous voir?"

 

"Oui," Conrad confirms with a nod, "Il a dit que vous êtes incroyable, que je devrais apprendre à vous connaître."

 

"Il a fait?"

 

"Oui," Conrad says. Conrad makes eye contact with Dean then. Dean offers him a smile while reaching out and pressing a hand against the small of Colette's back. They are really bordering on running late. He says, "Je veux te connaitre."

 

Dean absently looks at the clock, causing her to follow his movement almost immediately. She smiles sadly. She looks ahead at Conrad. She says, "Je dois revenir à New York."

 

"Bien sûr," he replies, "Puis-je vous voir la prochaine fois que vous êtes ici?"

 

"Oui," she says.

 

"Voici mon numéro," Conrad says, extending a piece of paper to her. Conrad smiles as she takes it. He promptly wraps his arms around her and pulls her into a hug. He says, "Je suis vraiment content que vous me trouvé."

 

She returns his hug with equal enthusiasm. She pulls back from him, offering him a small, reassuring nod. She says, "Au Revoir."

 

"Au Revoir," he repeats, stepping around her.

 

They watch Conrad exit the airport. He feels her hand slide into his before he shifts to look at her. She squeezes his hand, quickly retracting the gesture so they don't draw too much attention. It's a rather well known fact throughout Pan Am that they are dating, but the physical aspect is strictly prohibited.

 

"You did this?" Colette says.

 

"Me and Ted," he clarifies, "I want you to feel like you have a family."

 

"Mon tresor, I do have a family," she replies, "We will be married soon enough."

 

"I know," he says, "But I didn't want you to wonder what if."

 

"Merci," she says softly, pushing up onto her toes and pressing her lips against his cheek. He smiles, almost immediately rocking back onto his heels. She adds, "I'm one lucky woman."

 

-

 

"Captain Lowery."

 

He turns at the sound of his name, her voice soft and sweet and familiar. He smiles tightly as he looks around the back of his captain's seat. The plane is now thousands of feet in the air, headed back to New York on autopilot. There are clear skies ahead, the sun shining brightly.

 

Ted had been talking about the Yankees, which Dean personally misses, and how much his father hates the beloved team. Ted recently found this information out, and it has left him unsettled ever since. Upon hearing Colette call his name out, Ted brings the conversation to a halt.

 

"Colette?" He asks, addressing her as professionally as possible. By now, all of the crew knows that they are engaged, but if anyone were to get in trouble for non-professional behavior it would be her. The last thing that he wants is for her to get into trouble. He pushes himself out of his seat, looking at Ted really quick as if asking him to take the helm, and steps towards the door. "Everything alright?"

 

"Absolutely," she says, with a bit of hesitation. His eyebrows furrow in concern as he becomes nearer. He steps just outside of the cockpit and closes the door behind him. There is minimal space between them. She offers him a smile, like she's trying to calm him. "I forgot this. I'm lucky Kate saw it first."

 

She lifts the engagement ring between their chests and his eyes immediately narrow in on the metal. His eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. He reaches for it, perching it between his fingers.

 

"I'll just put it in my pocket," he replies reassuringly. He tucks it away into his pants pocket. His gaze meets her again and she looks terribly unsettled. He lifts a hand to her shoulder, fingers sweeping to her bare upper arm just below the material of her shirt. "It's safe. Everything will be fine."

 

"There's just one more thing," she says, tossing a glance behind her.

 

"What is it?"

 

"There's a little boy begging to see the cockpit," she replies.

 

He laughs gently, retracting his hand from her so he can fold his arms in front of his chest. He thinks she's adorable and he wishes he could kiss her. She's definitely the one person in his life who can always make him smile. He hopes that he's that for her.

 

"Alright, bring him up," Dean says.

 

-

 

"This is great," he says, fully swallowing a bite of food, "What did you call this?"

 

"Coq au Vin," she replies with a wide grin.

 

She doesn't get the opportunity to cook often, but when she does he absolutely loves it. He thinks he could have her cooking every night if work allowed it. He'd rent an apartment in every city if she would make him dinner every night.

 

"Coq au Vin," he repeats, mouth fumbling on the words, "Well, whatever it is, it's fantastic. Maybe you can teach me to cook it."

 

She laughs there. She says, "You don't have to cook, mon amour. I can cook for you."

 

"You are a great cook," he replies, "But I'd like to cook for you every once and awhile."

 

She hums in response. They only have one more night home before they are off to London again, where he plans on surprising her with tickets to The Beatles. She'll be more excited for it than him, he knows that much.

 

"I got you a present," she says.

 

"You made me dinner," he says, "That's plenty."

 

"It's for your birthday," she replies with a pout, "I wanted to get you something nice."

 

"But I have everything I could ever want," he says,

 

She lightly shakes her head as she stands. He pushes his chair back as she goes to her purse by the front door. She quickly returns, pressing her hand against his shoulder as she lowers onto his lap. He circles his arms around her waist, lifting his chin to look at her.

 

He presses his lips against her jaw, her hair brushing over his face. It's a little shorter now, the ends of it trimmed to just below her shoulders again. It curls under, hugging her face with an intimate servitude. She giggles softly, one arm sliding around his shoulders.

 

"I've given a lot of thought to our future," she starts, lifting her other hand in front of his face and showing him her palm. He looks down to see a key in her hand. He quickly matches her gaze again, not really sure what's going on. "It's an apartment for us to look at."

 

-

 

He's staring at Ted's door.

 

She lifts the key up to him before pushing it into the lock, turning it and twisting the knob. She opens the door and reaches back for his hand, pulling him across the threshold. He takes a look around to see an empty apartment with a familiar view. He didn't even know Ted was moving. He feels like an awful friend.

 

"What happened?" He asks. She turns, giving him a confused look. He gestures around the empty apartment. "With Ted's stuff."

 

"He moved out," she answers, "He wanted to move somewhere on his own, without his father's help. He offered me a really good deal."

 

"Why didn't he tell me?"

 

"Because I asked him not to," she explains, "It has three bedrooms, a study and three bathrooms."

 

He ponders, face contorting in confusion, "That's a bit too much."

 

"Mon tresor, we will have children one day," she says. She grabs his hand again and leads him to a bedroom off to the side of the living room. She leans against the door frame. She says, "This can be your Mother's room."

 

He takes in the size of the room. He thinks it will be plenty of room for her to fit her things in. He's almost sure she would be pleased. She turns, pressing her hands against his chest and takes a gentle step forward. He takes a step back in tandem with her. Her hand immediately finds his as she leads him to the hallway on the opposite side of the living room.

 

She pulls him all of the way into this next room. She lets go of his hand near the window and looks out of it. She has a particular glow surrounding her from the light coming in from the moon. He swallows thickly.

 

"This can be the baby's room," she muses, barely above a whisper.

 

He smiles tightly, nodding in agreement. He takes a look at the size of the room. He absently wonders how soon she thinks their apartment will become full. Surely this is something they would do years from now. The look on her face tells him something different though.

 

"Seeing you with that kid yesterday," she interjects before he can even say anything, "I want that with you, Dean. I never thought I would find a man in this world quite like you. But I did. And I don't want to wait forever to start our lives together."

 

"I don't want to wait forever either," he replies, lifting his hands to her upper arms, "But that doesn't mean we have to start a family right now. I'm happy just being with you."

 

"Not now," she says, certainty in her voice as she lifts her hands to his cheeks, "But soon."

 

She kisses him softly then, pushing onto her tip toes and lifting the tall heels of her shoes off of the ground. He instinctively circles his hands around her waist, holding her tightly into place. Her hands push around his shoulders, arms wrapping around his neck. The curves of her smile matches his, the kiss soft and sweet and all too brief.

 

"Let's move in," he mutters against her lips.

 

-

 

"I got you a present," he says with a wide grin.

 

Her face spreads in great surprise, eyebrows furrowed cutely and lips pursed innocently. His grin widens as her adorable face turns into the slightest hints of a pout. He will reinforce this behavior in his children years from now as they beg 'please, Daddy.'

 

"Mon amour, it is your birthday. I do not deserve a present on your day," she replies.

 

"It's a present for me too," he counters, catching her as she moves passed him in the hotel room. His hands circle her hips to still her movements. She has barely sat still for even 10 minutes since they landed 3 hours ago. He wonders what has her so anxious. "Come here."

 

"What is this present, mon tresor?" She asks.

 

"What's troubling you?" He counters, his own bottom lip jutting out in equal force.

 

"London always troubles me," she admits. Her hands come to rest on his arms, sliding around to his biceps. He feels her fingers dig into his muscles.

 

Her gaze won't meet his eyes. He lowers his head in search of her gaze. He doesn't meet it. He says, "Why does London trouble you, Sweetheart?"

 

"London makes you feel sentimental," she says, voice small.

 

He pushes his hands around to her back, pulling her between his knees. She sighs heavily, her forehead dropping to his. Her eyes are closed, like she's afraid to look him in the eye.

 

"Hey," he mutters gently, sliding his hands further up her spine, "You're my favorite person in the entire world. That's why I got us tickets to go see that band you like so much tonight."

 

"You didn't have to do that for me," she says.

 

He lightly presses his lips against her jaw as he stands, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He reaches for her right hand and lifts it to his shoulder, immediately swaying his hips beneath her touch. She seems to have a heavy heart and he wants to help her with that.

 

"I'm your future husband," he reminds her, "I would do anything for you."

 

"Dean," she protests gently, her fingers curling against his shoulder, "It's your birthday."

 

"And I just want to spend it with you," he replies.

 

-

 

The girls at the concert are crazy, screaming until they lose their voices. His betrothed seems content, kissing him from time to time, swaying with him to the music, singing along to the songs they've heard on the radio. He makes it a point to touch her as often as possible, hands on her hips or around her waist.

 

-

 

"I wanna be your lover, baby, I wanna be your man," he mutters inches away from her ear. His hands find her waist and slide up her sides as they approach the door to their hotel room. He presses his lips against her exposed neck, her hair pulled up into a bun behind her head. "Tell me that you love me, baby, like no other can."

 

She giggles there, his warm breath seemingly tickling her skin as she expels a particularly distracted breath. He pushes his hands around to her stomach, swaying gently to the left and quickly to the right. She shakes her head and quickly turns around in his embrace to face him.

 

"I was right," she mumbles with a grin, "London is troublesome."

 

He smirks when he feels her palms flatten against his stomach. She leans forward and kisses him softly, her hands working up his chest to wrap around to the back of his neck. He feels her fingers clasp at his hairline, silently tapping away the tune of the song he'd been singing. He presses his hips into hers, pinning her between him and the door. She practically melts in his arms, the weight of her in his hands almost catching him off guard.

 

He slides his nose along hers, his lips still slightly parted as the kiss continues reeling through him. He whispers, "I wanna be your lover, baby, I wanna be your man."

 

"You are a dream," she says.

 

"No," he says with a light shake of his head, "I'm real. This is real."

 

She kisses him, her fingers unwinding against his skin and moving down his chest. Her thumbs absently graze his nipples through his shirt, and a breath escapes his slightly parted lips against her lips. She releases a low, guttural moan that he swallows.

 

She says, "Let's get you to bed."


End file.
